


The Sparks Between Us

by lightsaroundyourvanity



Category: RWBY
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Fluff, Mission Fic, Post-Volume 6 (RWBY), Slow Burn, ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2019-11-08 02:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17972582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsaroundyourvanity/pseuds/lightsaroundyourvanity
Summary: Winter sends team RWBY on a mission after they arrive in Atlas. Blake and Yang work out what they mean to each other.





	1. Chapter 1

“Ah, finally. Time to kick up our heels and _relax._ ”

Even Yang knows how out of place she must look when she flops backwards onto the powdered blue satin chaise, shamelessly props up one dusty boot. She doesn’t care. It’s comfortable (well, it’s _horizontal_ ) and Yang is bone tired. She folds her hands behind her head and leans back.

It’s been twelve hours since they’d arrived in Atlas. Twelve hours of security checks, protocol checks, weapons checks… and Yang had been ready to _check out_ since before they’d even landed. Between sky piracy, losing her motorcycle, mortal combat, and battling skyscraper sized Grimm from the depths of the ocean, she had had a day.

Yang briefly lets her eyes shut in sweet, sleep-adjacent relief, and then blinks them open. She’s not the only one who looks tired. Ruby sags on her feet, and instinctively Yang wants to jump up again, put her to bed. Weiss looks even more high strung than usual, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. And Blake…

Blake has been wearing that same odd expression since they’d disembarked the airship. It’s complicated by shades of sadness, relief, exhaustion… and peace. Yang can’t imagine what Blake is thinking. They’d killed Adam together, but Yang had seen only the man who had tried to take her apart, piece by piece. She wonders what Blake had seen. All the directions he could have gone, all the moments he might have. He chose wrong every time. Yang won’t miss him. 

Yang watches Blake for long enough that Blake notices, and their eyes meet. Yang tilts her chin towards Blake, and Blake bites her lip, smiles, and crosses over to join Yang on the chaise. She drapes Yang’s legs over her lap, and Yang sits up on her elbows.

This dynamic between them, this charged-and-not charged, is a new level for them both. Yang doesn’t know what to make of it, but she feels like a kid with a crush at a sleepover. All of the nerves on the backs of her legs feel more alive right now, and when Blake rests her hand on Yang’s kneecap, she thinks that she might explode.

They’ve always been affectionate. They’ve always been close. But there’s something more to it now. _A promise._ And if Yang thinks that she knows what it all means, she still doesn’t know how to say it aloud, not yet.

Yang’s reverie is shattered when Weiss lets out a disgusted noise. “You’re getting mud on _everything_.”

Yang looks at her boots (they’re filthy), and then up at Weiss. She raises an eyebrow. Like: After all this, you’re really going to play the princess card?

Weiss looks at the ground. “Well, you are,” she mutters.

Yang’s heart softens. Sometimes, being a brat is the only way that Weiss knows how to be vulnerable and scared. Yang lashes out with her fists instead of her tongue, but she gets that. And she thinks about how very vulnerable, and very scared Weiss must be feeling right now, back in the place she’d clawed her way out of.   

So Yang swings her legs down and sits up straight, and feels a mournful pull away from Blake when she does – except there Blake is again, resting her head against Yang’s shoulder, and Yang’s blood starts to sing. Weiss rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling.

Yang looks to Ruby again, uncharacteristically quiet. She frowns. “Doing okay, sis?”

Ruby smiles, but even that reveals how tired she must be. It’s like every ounce of chipper has been drained out of her, which Yang didn’t know was possible.

“I’m fine,” says Ruby. “Just…”

“ _Tired_ ,” Weiss finishes. “I think we all are. What was General Ironwood thinking, making us go through all that bureaucracy? After everything we’ve been through?”

“Atlas is on high alert,” Blake says thoughtfully. “Makes you wonder what for.”

A hush falls over the four of them. Yang knows that they’re all remembering the armada that flanked the continent when they flew in, and maybe, distant and behind that, the last time they’d seen an Atlesien fleet surrounding a kingdom. Vale. Yang feels a phantom tug of pain from her arm. 

“Whatever it is, we’ll get to the bottom of it,” Ruby says. A touch of her old strength returns to her voice. “We’ve faced worse. We have the relic. We have our mission. And if anyone in Atlas thinks they can stop us, well—”

Ruby’s speech is cut off mid-sentence when she breaks into an enormous yawn. Everyone giggles. Yang jumps to her feet and puts her arm around her sister.

“Okay, hero, time for bed.”

Ruby sleepily protests, but Yang ignores her and steers her towards a bedroom.

The apartment General Ironwood had given then was a little dainty and pastel for Yang’s tastes, but it was easy to navigate. The first door she opens is a bedroom, and she ushers Ruby into the overstuffed four poster. 

“Yang?” Ruby asks, as Yang tucks her in.

“Yeah, Ruby?”

There’s no response. Ruby is fast asleep. Yang smiles and brushes a piece of hair from Ruby’s face. Her baby sister, saving the world. Like this, she still looks eight years old to Yang, but Yang has seen her lead battles with confident efficiency, seen her turn Grimm into stone with her eyes. And Yang is so, so proud of Ruby. She’s growing up into one of the heroes she’d always admired.

When Yang returns to the living room, Weiss is sorting through luggage, picking out her own. Blake is still on the chaise, and Yang reclaims the seat next to her.

“I’m going to bed too,” Weiss announces. “That was—”

“A _day,_ ” says Yang.

Weiss smiles. “It really was, wasn’t it? Night, you two.”

Weiss trips out, carrying her suitcase, and Yang glances at Blake. It’s just the two of them now. She wonders if they should talk. Or if she should put her hand on Blake’s knee and see where the wind sways from there.

“Are you tired?” Blake asks suddenly.

“What? No!” Yang is beyond tired, and she proves it a moment later by badly smothering a yawn. “Okay, maybe a little bit,” she admits sheepishly. “But not if you want to hang out.”

“I do want to,” says Blake. And then it’s like she’s read Yang’s mind, because she puts her hand. Right on Yang’s knee. 

Yang turns to Blake, and a thousand words could bubble to her lips, but none of them seem to want to come out. She’s better with her hands. She lifts one now, rests it on the curve of Blake’s cheek. “Blake…”

Blake leans into her touch, and Yang is amazed all over again that they’ve eased into this point. At the intersection of new and familiar it all holds. She wonders what it would be like to kiss Blake. She bets her lips are soft.

“Tomorrow…” Blake murmurs.

“Huh?” Yang is still thinking about Blake’s lips. 

“We’ll hang out tomorrow. We need to, um. Talk.”

Yang doesn’t know what they could possibly have to talk about that they can’t show each other.  And Yang knows that they have everything to talk about.

“Qrow said we could be here days before anyone will see us,” says Yang. “We’ll have plenty of time to…”

“Talk.”

“Yeah. That.” Yang’s thumb skates over Blake’s cheekbone, and she sees Blake’s lips part. _I should kiss her now_ , Yang thinks. She wills herself to lean forward, to bring their mouths together. Except that…

Except that Blake has been through so much, and that it’s three in the morning, and that even if Blake does want to kiss her too (Yang thinks she wants to kiss her too), she might not appreciate it under the circumstances. She did just say they’d talk tomorrow.

So Yang takes her hand from Blake’s cheek, and her eyes from Blake’s lips, and pulls her into a hug, because that’s safer. Blake seems surprised for a beat, but then she buries her face in Yang’s shoulder and holds her back. Yang feels longing well up inside her.

“Good night,” she says into Blake’s hair.

Yang is exhausted when she goes to bed, but she lies awake for twenty minutes anyway, thinking about dumb, sappy things, like what it feels like to hold Blake’s hand.

 

  

Sharp knocking at the door wakes Yang the next morning, and she rolls over and puts a pillow over her head. She can still hear the knocking. Yang wonders if this is her responsibility somehow until she hears quick, precise footsteps in the other room and thinks, _Oh good. Weiss._

Yang hears the sound of the door opening and muffled (but enthusiastic) greetings. She realizes that she is awake now anyway, so she throws the pillow aside, gets out of bed, and goes to investigate.

Weiss stands in the foyer talking to a taller, more remote version of herself. _That must be her sister,_ Yang realizes. _Winter_.

“I’m so happy you were able to come over,” Weiss is saying. “It’s so good to see you! I was worried you might be busy—”

“Weiss. Are you going to let me in?”

“Oh! Of course!” Weiss steps aside, and gestures for Winter to come in, shuts the door, takes Winter’s coat. “Have a seat! Would you like coffee?”

“I’m fine.” Despite her clipped tone, there’s warmth in the way Winter treats Weiss. She crosses through and takes a seat on the blue chaise.

Yang clears her throat. “Hey.”

Weiss (fully dressed, nervously fluttering Weiss) takes one glance at Yang and looks mortified. “Yang,” she hisses. “Did you just roll out of bed?" 

“Um. Kind of.” Yang tries to smooth out her hair, but it’s a tangled mass. “I’ll go get dressed.”

“No, stay,” says Winter. She looks at Weiss. “I’ve actually come to talk to your whole team.”

“I’ll get the others,” Weiss says. She’s gone in an eager flash.

Yang sprawls in an armchair, and soon the whole team is gathered, looking sleep rumpled and curious. Weiss returns with a tray of coffees, and Yang takes hers with both hands and is grateful for the first scalding, life-affirming swallow. 

Blake sits on the floor next to Yang and sips a cup of tea. Yang can’t believe how good Blake looks after waking up. She can’t believe she never noticed it before – they’d shared a room for over a year, hadn’t they? But again, there’s that crackling new awareness. Yang wants to throw Blake over her shoulder and take her back to bed and stay there, warm and curled up against each other, until at _least_ early afternoon.

Instead, she cocks her head attentively when Weiss speaks.

“What did you want to talk to us about, Winter?”

Winter sighs and puts down her cup. “It’s a little bit awkward.”

“Is it General Ironwood?” asks Ruby. “Is he ready to see us already?”

“Well, that’s just it. He’s not going to be able to see you. Not for a few weeks.”

Yang nearly chokes on her coffee. “ _Weeks?_ We don’t _have_ weeks!”

Winter is nonplussed. “Unfortunately, all you have are weeks. There’s… a lot going on in Atlas that I can’t share right now.”

“So what are we supposed to do? Just sit around here until Ironwood deigns to talk to us or we get attacked?”

Yang feels her temper rise. It’s all frustration, fizzy and insubstantial, but she wants to throw it at somebody anyway.

Winter makes a terrible target. She remains cool; frank and apologetic. “That’s the other reason I came. If you’re interested, I have a job for you.”

“We’re interested,” says Ruby. She doesn’t look around the room first. She doesn’t have to. If the choice is between sitting on their hands or doing something useful? It’s no question at all.

Winter sizes up Ruby thoughtfully. After a beat, she nods. “Good. I was hoping you’d say that.” She takes a breath. “As I was saying, there’s a lot going on in Atlas right now. We’ve had to recall everyone on active duty because of—well, actually, that’s—”

“Classified,” Yang interrupts. “Yeah. We get it.”

“Of course.” Winter looks very much like she is trying not to roll her eyes. “Well, _because_ of that, petitions from outside the kingdom have been going unheard. Villages who are facing threats from the Grimm. Most of the huntsmen in Atlas have obligations to the military, but I was thinking, well, if I could send a team who weren’t _from_ Atlas…”

“Winter,” Weiss gasps, “Are you asking us to break the rules?”

“It’s more of a loophole than anything…”

“I love it!” Weiss starts to throw her arms around Winter, thinks better of it, and then pins them to her side. “Intrigue is an excellent source of sisterly bonding.”

“You know I can’t go with you. I’m needed here.”

Weiss’s face falls. “Of course.”

“Where do you want us to go?” asks Ruby.

“A village in the north called Neiden. There have been reports of increased Grimm activity.”

“Not for long!” If Ruby had her scythe on her, Yang thinks that she might have whipped it out, just for the dramatic effect.

“Why?”

Everyone turns to look at Blake, who is looking at Winter, confused. Suspicious, even.

“You care about the army. You care about these rules. There must be dozens of these unanswered distress calls. Why bend the rules for this one?”

It’s so like Blake, to cut right to the heart of the thing, to _want to know_ the heart of the thing. Admiration socks Yang in the chest.

Winter fidgets. “You’re right, of course.” Winter pauses, sighs, and then continues stiffly. “It’s like you said. We have dozens of these distress calls. All unanswered. The Atlesien army is the mightiest in all of Remnant, and they can’t even protect Atlas. Desperate times. I wish I could say more, but—" 

“Classified.” Yang hears Blake and Ruby join in the chorus with her and grins.

Colour rises in Winter’s pale cheeks. “I believe in Atlas, but I worry that Atlas is spread too thin. And it’s forgetting the world outside the kingdom. If we could help even one town… I had a friend at the academy from Neiden. I picked the case at random, but maybe that’s why it stood out.”

Yang’s eyes slide towards Blake again. Blake’s features have softened. Yang tries to guess at what thoughts are turning behind them. A stand against a rising tide is something that all of them can understand, but for Blake, that understanding is more personal.

“We help where we can,” Blake says softly. She and Winter share a look. Winter nods.

“When do we start?” Ruby asks.

“Tomorrow,” Winter says briskly. “I can get you there, and keep you supplied, but that’s all the help I can offer. This isn’t a sanctioned mission.”

Yang pumps her fist. “Black ops! Respect.”

Blake still looks concerned. “We’re still only students,” she says. “What makes you think we can do this?”

Winter smiles. “Because Weiss thinks you can. And I believe in her.”

 

 

Weiss walks Winter out, and Ruby goes to take a shower. Yang reaches her hand down just as Blake lifts hers. Their fingers tangle together, and Yang squeezes Blake’s hand.

“No rest for the wicked, huh?” says Yang.

“This feels like something to keep us from causing trouble while we wait for all of the adults to stop talking.”

Yang shrugs. “Maybe it is. That doesn’t mean we won’t be able to help people." 

“True.” Blake looks thoughtful for a moment. “I liked her. Winter. Even if this is just busy work, it seems like she really… cares.”

“She reminded me of Weiss that way.”

“Me, too.”

Yang tugs Blake’s hand towards her, and Blake follows automatically. She gets off the ground and curls up with Yang on her chair, legs dangling over one arm. Yang still holds her hand, and she runs her thumb over the lines of Blake’s palm.

This is more than friendship. Sitting in each other’s laps, feeling each other’s skin – Yang is pretty sure that this all goes beyond friendship. This grey area they’ve found themselves in intoxicating. And fragile. And Yang’s still not sure that she should be the one to ask for more. She’s happy to have this, even if her thoughts are straying towards Blake’s mouth again. 

Maybe this mission will be a good thing. It’ll give Yang the chance to blow off a little steam. Yang thinks she could even look forward to it: A straightforward hunt without the world hanging in the balance. No gods, no monsters, no ghosts.

“Hey, if we’re going further north, you know what we need to do?”

“Hm?” Blake sounds half tuned out, but her ears prick forward.

“Buy you a new coat.” Yang pauses thoughtfully. “And maybe a sword.”

Yang’s day starts planning itself in her head, as easily as falling dominoes. Shopping with Blake. Trying on clothes with Blake. Running her hands over weapons components and talking about designs with Blake…

Yeah. A straightforward hunt was just what Yang needed.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Winter flies them to Neiden, but as she reminds them again (as she reminds them several times), she won’t be staying. Team RWBY sits huddled in the hold for the short haul flight, and privately, Yang still feels like they’re all being shipped off to summer camp.

It was something she’d talked more about with Blake, and something they’d always landed on the same point on: Make work or not, if there was even the chance of someone needing real help, in real danger, they had to go. That was what being a huntress was about.

Once, Ruby had told Yang about a conversation she’d had with Dr. Oobleck, where he told her to look at hunts not as monsters to defeat but lives to be saved. Yang thinks that she’s starting to get that.

Yang’s thoughts and her eyes drift to Blake. Inevitably. She’s wearing a new coat, nose buried in the thick fleecy lining, and Yang melts into a smile. It had been fun to shop, to walk an unspoken lighthearted pact for an afternoon and watch Blake try on clothes. Yang remembers Blake sliding on a buckled leather jacket and feeling like her jaw must have dropped straight through the ground. She’d looked so… so…

Well. _Hot._ But hot feels inadequate for what Yang feels when she thinks about Blake. It’s like her heart thinks that Blake is hot. Yang wants to drink in how fucking beautiful Blake is, and she wants to hold her close and keep her warm. She wants to protect her and also kiss her senseless. She wants to know if Blake’s feeling it too, because it’s like a switch has been turned on inside Yang. It’s an awareness that started nipping at Yang when she saw Blake again back at Haven, has coming screaming to full volume as they’ve fallen back into step with one another these past few weeks.

It’s an absolute sureness that settled over Yang when her hand began to shake, and Blake was there to take it. 

They never did get to talk.

“You know,” Ruby says thoughtfully, “This is almost like being at Beacon again.”

“Huh?” Yang has no clue what Ruby is saying.

“Not like, _Beacon_ Beacon,” Ruby clarifies. “But like. What Beacon was supposed to be. If we’d actually made it to second year, I mean.” Ruby looks at the ground, realizing a beat too late how depressing her observation actually is.

“And we’re together,” Blake says. Ruby lifts her head. Blake smiles. “I get it.”

Yang feels a rush of love for Blake when she sees Ruby’s expression soften and cheer.

“I, for one, will be happy to fight something _normal_ for a change,” says Weiss. 

“Woah, Weiss is out for blood.” Yang laughs. “Atlas really _does_ change you.”

Weiss’s eyes narrow. “You have no idea.”

Yang stops laughing. It’s true, there’s a new edge to Weiss in Atlas that she’s never seen before. Yang doesn’t think that it’s violent though, not really. It’s… frightened. 

“It’s good we’re getting out of the city for a few days,” says Yang.

Weiss’s shoulders sag when she sighs. A beat, and then she straightens up. “Neiden is supposed to be a _lovely_ town,” she says. “It has famous hot springs.”

“ _Had.”_ That’s Blake, with her social activist voice put on. “Tourism was driven down in the town after dust mines were founded and built by—” Blake cuts off abruptly. 

“By Schnee Dust Company.” Weiss sighs. “I know. You can say it. My dad’s a… a…” 

“Douche,” Yang supplies.

Unexpectedly, Weiss laughs. “Yeah.”

“Aren’t the Schnee mines pretty well protected already?” asks Ruby.

“They were emptied out. Years ago.” Weiss looks at the ground. “I guess Neiden doesn’t have much of anything anymore.” 

Weiss’ words settle over the four of them. Yang is starting to feel depressed again. “Hey!” she says brightly. “At least they have us.”

 

 

Winter leaves them with a farewell, a soft look for Weiss, and instructions on how to reach her when they are ready to go home. Then they are left alone in Neiden.

It’s a small town: Quaint, but obviously run down. There’s one main road, cobbled and grown over with icy moss between the cracks. It’s lined with narrow, brightly painted rowhouses. Hand lettered signs advertise storefronts.

What quickly becomes apparent is that Neiden’s best feature is its landscape. The town is sheltered by snowy mountains on three sides. They make a dramatic sight, all jagged peaks stretching up towards the weak sunlight, and if Yang squints, she can see how this could have been a popular tourist town once upon a time.

“Weird that they’re having problems,” Yang comments. “You’d think with the mountains, this place would be pretty safe.”

“Maybe the Grimm have adapted,” suggests Blake.

Yang shudders. “Self-aware Grimm. I’ll pass.”

“I think some Grimm already are,” Ruby says quietly, thoughtfully. “The older ones.”

“Horrifying. Genuinely horrifying. Thanks for that, sis.”

“Are we going to look around, or are we going to keep giving Yang nightmares?” asks Weiss. “I am _freezing._ ”

“Not nightmares,” Yang protests. “Concerns. Light ones. I’m not _scared._ ”

But Weiss and Ruby have already moved ahead on the road. Yang lets out a noisy breath.

“I believe you,” says Blake. “No nightmares.”

And Yang would have her witty retort locked and loaded, but when Blake speaks, she also takes Yang’s hand, and everything snarky that Yang has ever thought disappears into a fog of _Blake is holding my hand._  

“Well. Maybe some nightmares,” she admits, begrudgingly. 

“But none about sentient Grimm.”

“No. None of those.”

They both fall silent. Both know exactly what haunts Yang’s dreams – what haunts both of their dreams, really. Yang hates that even dead, Adam can hang between them. She wishes that she could scrub away every memory, every emotion, that he’d left behind, but that’s not how trauma works. The best she can do is to never let him win again. 

“It’s getting better,” Yang says aloud.

Blake squeezes her hand, and Yang catches her eye. Yang might not understand her pain, but the striking intersection of regret and absolute relief? That, they both understand. Yang and Blake will retrieve the pieces that make it all worthwhile, a jeweler carefully pawing through shards of broken glass. 

They catch up with Weiss and Ruby, hands a still knot between them.

 

 

It doesn’t take much asking to point them towards the lodge where the mayor is holding court, and even less to find him after that. The lodge is a sturdy, half-timbered building. Inside, one half of the room has been framed around an enormous hearth and mantle: Worn carpets and overstuffed seating dots the space. The other half of the room is set with long wooden tables and chairs, like a dining hall, and Yang wonders if the whole building is a repurposed remnant of the town’s former identities.

The mayor is friendly, but perplexed, which sends a ripple of confusion through the team. 

“We have had more Grimm attacks,” he admits. “But there’s already a team of huntsmen protecting this village. Team BSTR.”

A child of ten or so stands at the mayor’s arm – his son? He tugs on his father’s sleeve, but is quickly brushed away. “You can ask them any questions you might have,” the mayor finishes.

Yang, Ruby, Blake and Weiss look in the direction he indicates. Sure enough, four huntsmen sit around the hearth, in various states of recline. One of them, broad shouldered and tawny haired, tosses popcorn into the air and catches it in his mouth. The girls exchange a glance and then troop over to Team BSTR.  

“Sure, there are a lot of Grimm,” the team leader, Benedict, tells them. His voice is airy, and he keeps tossing popcorn while he speaks. “It’s nothing we can’t handle. Right, Salome?” 

Salome has plum coloured hair that falls in loose waves. It matches her painted lips. She smiles, slow and predatory, and holds out her palm, where a small black flame ignites. She quickly crushes it out. “I think we’ve got it under control,” she says.

Ruby probes a few more questions, but soon she stands outside the lodge with Yang and the rest of the team again, baffled and at ends. “I don’t get it,” she says, “Everything seems fine here.”

“There’s still been a spike in Grimm activity,” Weiss points out.

“Yeah, but they have a _team_ here.” Ruby shrugs helplessly. “If Atlas is stretched so thin, why wouldn’t Winter send us somewhere stretched a little… uh, thinner?”

“I told you, she was just trying to get us out of the way,” says Yang.

“I refuse to believe that my sister is that duplicitous,” Weiss snaps.

“Duplicitous? She works for _James Ironwood._ ”

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means this whole kingdom is full of—”

“Excuse me? Are you ladies huntsmen?”

Yang cuts off abruptly. They’ve been approached by the boy from inside. The mayor’s son, Yang thinks.

“We are hun _tresses,_ ” Weiss corrects him.

“Technically, we’re not even that,” Blake says quietly.

Yang elbows Blake in the side. “Be cool, babydoll,” she hisses under her breath.

The boy looks more confused than ever now. Ruby drops to her knees, looks him solemnly in the eye. “Yes, we’re huntresses. Do you need help?”

He shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. “Not me, but um. You were asking my dad questions? About the Grimm?”

Yang crosses her arms over her chest. She’s ready for this kid to get to the point. But Ruby patiently urges him to continue.

“Um. It’s just that, like, my friend Ellery said she was going to send a message to Atlas? To try and stop him?”

“To stop who?” Ruby asks gently. Tension crackles in the air as everyone’s interest piques. They lean in to listen.

“The butzemann.”

It’s like the air has been let out of the balloon that holds them in place. Weiss actually lets out an annoyed sigh, and flashes of incredulity show all around.

“The _what_?” asks Blake.

“The _butzemann._ ” That’s Weiss. “It’s a _fairy tale_.”

“Are you telling me we came all the way out here for a crank call?” asks Yang.

“It’s not a fairy tale,” the boy says insistently. “I mean. Well, it _is_ a fairy tale, but what happened to Ellery isn’t. I told her you wouldn’t believe us. No grown ups believe us. They just say that sometimes the Grimm come with bad dreams.”

And maybe it’s because if anybody believes in fairy tales, isn’t it them? And maybe it’s because every part of Yang’s being revolts at the idea of being called a _grown up._ But all of this strikes a chord with Yang. She meets eyes with Ruby, who gives the tiniest of nods. She believes the shorty, too.

“Tell us what happened,” says Ruby, “And I promise, we’ll listen.”

 

  

Here is the gist of it: A widening circle of kids have been spirited away to the caves on the outskirts of town, badly frightened, and then returned to their beds by dawn. The butzemann is the culprit they all swear by, a popular nightmare fable known for stealing bad children from their homes in the night and punishing them.

(“Has anybody been hurt?” Ruby asked. No, just scared. But Yang feels a tremor in her hand and knows that that’s enough.)

They had tried to tell their parents, but on the tail of every kidnapping had come a Grimm attack, followed by a now familiar band-aid. _You were just dreaming. You know the Grimm bring bad dreams, sweetheart. Go back to bed._

It had been Ellery’s idea to write to the council in Atlas, but the mayor’s son who’d snagged the stationary that granted them dispatch access. _If our parents and BSTR won’t help us, then maybe we can find someone who will._

And all this had pinballed its way down to team RWBY. How could they not help? 

“I put glyphs around the caves he told us about,” says Weiss. She brushes melting snow from her ponytail and shuts the inn’s front door. “If anything touches them tonight, I’ll know.”

“What if Grimm walk through it?” asks Ruby.

“Not alive. Won’t engage.”

“What about an animal? Like if a bunny hopped in to get warm?”

“They won’t. Butzemann or not, there’s something going on there. Those caves were…” Weiss shudders. “Spooky.” She shrugs off her coat.

After sending their small informant home, everyone had decided that it was a threat worth checking out, if people were truly frightened. So Weiss had left to set a perimeter watch, and the rest of them had zeroed in on a place to spend the night.

“It’s kind of bogus that BSTR couldn’t do the same thing,” says Yang.

“They probably thought a bunch of kids weren’t worth listening to.” Weiss gnaws guiltily on her lower lip. “ _We_ thought they weren’t worth listening to.”

“Is it bad that a part of me hopes it’s still a kiddie hoax?” Blake asks. She’s returning from the front desk when she joins them. Two room keys are folded into her hand. 

“What, between ragamuffin shenanigans and a monster so old he’s entered myth?” asks Weiss. “No, Blake. That isn’t bad.”

Blake’s answering smile is tired. The four of them drink in the odd moment, and then Blake holds up the keys. “Got our rooms,” she says. “Two doubles. How do we want to split up?" 

“Yang?” Ruby asks, deference borne of habit. 

Yang coughs awkwardly. Her eyes had been glued to Blake, but they dart towards Ruby now. She opens her mouth to speak, but only an awkward, “Uh…” comes out, as her eyes slide helplessly, helplessly, back towards Blake.

It all dawns on Ruby a beat too late. “Oh!” she looks from Yang to Blake. “Unless you two wanna…”

“Oh my _god._ ” Weiss takes a definitive step forward, takes one of the keys from Blake, and grabs Ruby’s wrist. “Come on. Do _not_ make this any weirder than it already is.”

And just like that, Weiss marches Ruby out of the room. Ruby grins and flashes Yang a thumbs up on her way out. Yang is halfway between preening and mortified when she turns back to Blake.

“Alone at last,” says Blake, which makes Yang giggle. It’s easy for others to mistake Blake’s thoughtfulness for a lack of sense of a humour, but Yang has always thought that Blake was funny, in a dry, understated sort of way.

Yang offers her arm to Blake. “Shall we?”

Blake rolls her eyes, but she rests her hand in the crook of Yang’s elbow and lets her lead away. They walk like this all the way to their room, and sure its cheesy, but Yang feels half gallant, half rock star all the same, steering the most beautiful girl in the world to her hotel room.

A part of Yang hopes, romantically, expectantly, that when they get inside the room, there will only be one bed. Oh no, Blake will say, batting her eyes. I guess we’ll have to… share.

Her fantasy is immediately disappointed when Blake opens the door and they find two neatly made doubles, as advertised. Yang sighs and flops onto the one closest to the door.

“This is fine,” Yang says, half to herself.

Blake collapses next to Yang and props herself up on her elbows. “This is so depressing.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

“Oh, not you! Just… this.”

“Yeah.” Yang kicks off her boots. “Something is off here.”

“Butzemann.”

Yang snorts. “Right. The monster under the bed.”

“You don’t believe it?” Blake shifts, leans closer to Yang. A lock of hair falls over her cheek, and Yang is struck with the irrepressible urge to brush it back, trace the strong lines of Blake’s jaw.

“I don’t know.” Yang’s fingers twitch.  “Maybe.”

“It’ easy to ignore children.” Blake’s expression darkens. “That’s probably what draws the monsters in.”

It makes Yang think about what Blake must have been like when she was small: Passionate, defiant, and lonely. It makes Yang think about the monsters that Blake had drawn in, and want to spit venom and blood. 

“Let’s pay very close attention, then,” says Yang, and she is rewarded by the tender light of Blake’s answering smile.

 

 

They brush their teeth side by side. _Like an old married couple,_ Yang thinks, and her eyes meet Blake’s in the bathroom mirror. Blake smiles around her toothbrush. She leans over and spits into the sink, and Yang tracks the way Blake’s spine curves, the way her hair falls over her shoulders when she bends forward. Blake straightens up. She sees Yang see her, and one eyebrow raises, and one ear flicks.

Yang feels her entire body flush: Her chest, obvious and bare at the collarbones in the thin orange camisole she wears to sleep in. Her fingertips. Her cheeks. Now it’s Blake’s turn to follow the line of Yang’s body with her eyes, a slow crawl up, up, up until she’s staring Yang right in the eyes, no mirrors, no glass, no walls between them. There’s something raw in that stare, and Yang feels yearning wash over her, a warm, burbling wave.

Yang leans deliberately close to Blake when she bends to spit into the sink. Her long tangle of hair brushes Blake’s arms, and Yang swears that the tips of her hair can feel Blake’s skin shudder. Yang pops up, swipes her thumb over her lower lip, and grins at Blake, stops just short of winking.

Blake actually swallows. A beat, a stammered good-night, and then Yang’s watching her twitch out, and the heat between them stretches in wavy lines, thoughtful and longing and aching.

When Yang climbs into bed, her heart is still hammering. Blake is huddled under a pile of blankets on the opposite double, and Yang clicks off the light. She lies flat on her back in the dark, wide awake. She listens to Blake’s even breathing and wonders if she is already asleep. It’s hard to tell. Yang doesn’t know how she possibly could be.

All Yang can think about is Blake in the other bed. Her body, curled up and perfect on its side. Her eyelashes, cresting over her cheek like the break of a wave. The mattress ( _lucky mattress_ ), dipping under her weight. Yang wonders how she’ll ever fall asleep now.

“Yang?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you still awake?”

“Yeah.”

Yang hears the rustle and shift of Blake’s sheets across the room. She rolls onto her side and squints into the dark, and then – there, she catches it, the gleaming flash of Blake’s eyes.

“Do you…” Blake hesitates. Her breath catches. “Do you want to get into my bed with me?”

 _Oh, hell yeah._  Yang kicks off the covers and pads across the room. Even her footsteps sound eager. She slides in next to Blake, propped up on her side. For a moment, all they can do is look at each other, wonder how their legs don’t twine together like magnets. Yang’s face is so close to Blake’s that she can feel their breath mingling in the space between them. 

It’s almost too much – simultaneously, she and Blake breaks into soft giggles. They taper into a newer, more comfortable intimacy when Yang finally reaches out to Blake and brushes her hair off her face.

“Yang…”

“Yeah.” 

This is the moment. This is _their_ moment. Yang leans towards Blake. She tastes her before their lips even touch. She wants her before there’s even time to press skin against skin. Yang’s draws closer to Blake. Her mouth hovers close to Blake’s, almost grazing, almost whole. She wants to—She wants—She could—

A furious pounding on the door startled Yang so badly that she jolts backwards and rolls off the bed. She lands painfully on her ass, and there’s not even enough time to process it all – the pain, the loss, Blake still lying in bed, all tousled and tantalizing – before the door bursts open, and Weiss flurries into the room.

“The alarm went off and – why are you on the floor, Yang? Oh, never mind that. Something is going on at the caves. We have to _go!_ ”

Weiss exits as frenetically as she entered, leaving Yang and Blake, bewildered and flustered.

 Another moment and Yang is on her feet again, and Blake is out of bed, the both of them throwing on weapons and clothes. They are huntresses, after all.

They allow themselves one shared glance –savored, curious– and then Yang races out the door, Blake on their heels, Ruby and Weiss already bolting ahead of them down the hall.

Something about monsters and beds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your comments!! i'm so honoured and flattered that people are enjoying this fic <3


	3. Chapter 3

The race up to the mountain caves is gruelling, relentless. Yang feels the burn in her thighs from the climb, the tightness in her lungs from the cold, thin air, and is grateful for the adrenaline that pumps through her veins and propels her forward. Ruby, Weiss, and Blake keep in stride with her until they all hear the first scream. Then Ruby is off like a shot: A red blur, a trail of rose petals. Yang pushes forward on a new burst of steam.

Ruby already has her scythe out by the time the rest of the team catches up, angled towards a tableau of pandemonium in miniature. Half a dozen kids, none older than ten, ping around the area in a panicked semi-circle. Grimm are pouring down from the narrow, rocky paths that scatter the mountainside. And stalking the mouth of the cave is –

Well. Not a Grimm, but not a man, either. A hulking, shadowed figure with glinting teeth and a heavy snarl. _Butzemann,_ Yang realizes, and cold fear forms dewdrops on her spine. Her ears are ringing – or maybe it’s only the shrill echo of children screaming.

Ruby flicks a glance over her shoulder, and then back towards the Butzemann. Her jaw sets, and she lunges for it, Crescent Rose a shining arc in the air. It goes _through_ the monster like it’s made of smoke, and Yang catches the split second of Ruby’s puzzlement, her guard slipping, before she readjusts her grip and fires three shots into the Butzemann. They pass through and shatter against the rocks.

“I can’t get a hit!” Ruby shouts. She scans the perimeter, taking the rest of the scene in. Grimm are circling dangerously close now. Ruby’s eyes narrow. “Weiss—”

Before Ruby can continue, collective surprise takes them when the Butzemann turns and bolts into the hills. Again, Ruby looks puzzled. Again, Yang sees the wheels in her sister’s head turn as she adjusts her plans.

“Weiss, after the Butzemann!” Ruby waves her arm towards the children next. “Blake, get them to safety. And Yang…” Ruby grins, battle songs starting to sing in her. “Let’s take care of the Grimm.” 

They scatter. Weiss throws a white glyph into the air and springs from it. She disappears after the Butzemann. Blake rushes towards the kids, Yang to Ruby’s side.

“Got a plan?” Yang asks. She raises her fists, gauntlets flashing.

“Yeah. Hit ‘em a lot.”

Yang’s smile is a mirror of Ruby’s. “My favourite kind.”

On the edge of her vision, Yang sees a knot of Beowolves growing, and she doesn’t waste time: She pivots and flings herself fist-first at the enemy. She uppercuts one and then swings wide with her other arm. Yang’s punch connects hard –the Beowolf goes flying—and Yang fires two shots – _bam! bam!—_ into its head. The Grimm shreds into black smoke, and Yang turns and kicks another one in the side.  The second Beowolf swipes at her with a heavy paw. Yang takes the hit and feels it crackle in her bones as her semblance absorbs the damage. It swipes again, and this time Yang catches its paw with both hands, braces her arms and bares her teeth. She _swings_ with all her might and hurls the Grimm into one of its buddies. They both go crashing to the ground, stunned but alive. Yang, panting, takes stock.

Weiss is still gone, but she can’t think about that right now. Ruby is at her back, slashing through Grimm with inhuman efficiency. Blake is—

Yang feels a harsh flash of panic when she can’t find Blake, but then – _there she is_ , herding the kids towards the path back to town. A Beowolf leaps after Blake, but slides right through her – Blake’s semblance, acting as a decoy. Yang squints ahead and sees Blake, the real Blake, at a bend up ahead, waving the last child down the path. Clever. 

 _That’s my girl,_ Yang thinks, and she’s almost, almost distracted by the swell of pride, but then the stunned Beowolves are on their feet again, and Yang races to meet their attack. She rams one, and a ribbon of rose petals whips past her – Ruby materializes behind the second Beowolf and shoots it point blank in the head while Yang dispatches the first.

“Nice,” says Yang.

Ruby just points to the sky. Yang looks up: More Grimm have arrived. Griffons circle high above them. Yang looks back at Ruby, but each already know what the other is thinking. Ruby nods, a stubborn set to her chin, and swings Crescent Rose out. Yang takes three long steps backwards and leaps towards Ruby. She lands on the flat of the scythe and lets Ruby propel her when she bends her knees and springs up, up, up – and right into the face of a Griffon. Yang punches and shoots it in the head simultaneously, shoves its body away, and leaps onto the back of another Griffon, clings to its back and starts to pummel.

A red bullet whizzes past Yang’s ear, and she scowls groundward. “Ruby!”

Below, Ruby squeaks, “Sorry!” and then shouts again as more Beowolves attack. Yang hears more gunfire, but it remains out of her eyeline. She turns her attention back to the Griffon she’s grappling, rips off its wings with her bare hands, and leaps onto another Grimm when its body drops.

The air is so frenzied with monsters that Yang doesn’t realize how well she’s fought them off until it’s too late. She lands on the last Griffon, and they wrestle in the air, Yang throwing off wild shots as the Griffon swipes at her scalp with its talons. It manages to tangle itself in a swath of her hair, and Yang screams, as much from anger as from pain. She feels the flare of her semblance and her eyes flash red, just before she blasts the Griffon away. It’s dead and dust before it can even hit the mountainside. 

Yang takes a brief moment to feel smug – and then realizes that she’s in freefall now, with no more Grimm to buoy onto. She picks up speeds as she plummets.

“Oh, shi—”

Yang cuts off when she collides with a black glyph. _Weiss_. Yang falls through it, but it slows her descent, and Weiss throws up two more glyphs to break her fall. Still, Yang lands gracelessly. Her shoulder aches from the impact.

“ _Yang_!” 

That’s Blake, skidding on her knees to Yang’s side. Yang struggles into a crouch and groans. “Next time,” she calls to Ruby, “ _You_ fly through the air, and _I’ll_ take shots at you.”

“I said I was sorry!” Ruby fires at a Beowolf while she speaks.

“Uh-huh. What were you even _aiming_ for? Besides my dignity?”

“Sisterly banter later!” Weiss snaps. She points with Myrtenaster, deadly and elegant. “Fight now!”

Weiss and Ruby cut a perimeter, while Yang gets to her feet. Blake still hovers next to her, worry plain on her face.

“Are you okay?” asks Blake.

Yang rolls her shoulders. “Never better.”

“Yang—”

“I’m okay, really.” Yang shakes out her wrists, and Ember Celica slides back into place. “But if you’re really worried…” Yang glances at Blake sidelong, smirks, and winks. “You can nurse me back to health later.”

And because Yang knows how to hit a beat, she doesn’t wait for Blake to answer, and throws herself back into the fray. She quickly finds herself shoulder-to-shoulder with Weiss, who blasts icy dust at a Beowolf while Yang hauls into it with its fist.

“What happened to the Butzemann?” she shouts to Weiss over the melee.

Weiss makes a face. “Vanished. We’ll talk.”  She swings around on her heels, and parries a Beowolf’s claws with Myrtenaster, disengages with a skip backwards, and then skewers the Grimm with a flip of her hair.

Another Grimm lunges for Yang, and she swears when it’s hit connects with her ribs, snarls when she punches it square in the nose, hears it whimper in pain when she punches it again and unfurls two rapid kicks. She takes it out with another shot, and whirls to face the next enemy.

“ _Ursai_!” Someone shouts – Ruby, she thinks. Yang starts to look, but before she can clock it – _wham! –_ The Ursai swipes at Yang with one enormous paw, hard enough that her head snaps to one side, hard enough for Yang to stumble and collide with the ground. Again. And again, Yang pulls herself to her feet. Her brains feel scrambled. Her temples throb. She tries to gain her bearings, but the Ursai is on her again in a flash. It tackles Yang to the ground, and she thrashes under its weight, trying to get a good punch or a shot in.

A dark shadow hurtles into the Ursai and knocks it away. Yang feels clean air rush into her lungs again. She leaps to her feet again and sees—

Blake, slight and determined, wrestles the Grimm to the ground, and Yang almost shouts at her to be careful, is she crazy? Yang knows that Blake can take care of herself, but she’s so small compared to the bulk of the Ursai. Her heart hurts. She surges towards Blake, here to help despite herself. 

Blake, meanwhile, wraps as much of herself as she can around the Ursai in a bear hug – and then ignites. Blake rolls out of the way, a dust-fired shadow holding her places. The Ursai goes up in flames and lets out a lone, bellowing roar before it collapses.

Yang runs to Blake and helps her to her feet. “ _Blake,_ ” she breathes. “That was—”

“Bitch me out later,” Blake says. “While I’m tending your wounds.” 

And Yang knows it’s the middle of battle and kind of a dire situation, but her mouth goes dry. There’s _heat_ to Blake’s words, and if there were a handful fewer Grimm on the floor, she might even say fuck the battle and have her hands all over Blake’s body, her mouth on her mouth, right now.

But the Beowolves are relentless. Yang hears a _screech_ , sees Blake’s eyes snap away from her own, the rueful smile ghosting over her lips before she shoots off again and lands next to Weiss to tag team a monster. Yang’s sharp, hot longing deflates. She flings herself at another Beowolf.

It’s the grunt of exertion, the crunch of enemy bones. Shots fired, weapons flashing, fists flying. But it goes on and on and on until Yang starts to breathlessly wear down. She shoots a Griffon in the sky – so more of those fuckers are back, huh? – and bends forward with her hands braced against her knees to catch her breath.

To her left, Weiss dances with Myrtenaster, quick jabs and the bloom of glyphs. Blake swings her weapon – not Gambol Shroud, but good in a pinch – and hacks a Beowolf to pieces like butchered meat. To her right, Ruby is in the thick of it, swinging Crescent Rose in dizzying circles to cut swaths through an enemy that won’t stop coming.

“Where are they all fucking coming from?” Yang shouts.

Ruby hooks her scythe around a Beowolf’s throat and yanks backwards to decapitate it viciously. “I don’t know,” she admits. “But we gotta do something. We’re gonna be overwhelmed.”

“Shit.” Yang looks around – at Weiss and Blake, weaving around each other as they fight together, at Ruby, going at it alone. At the Grimm, a thick roil that is closing in. “Shit,” Yang says again. She’s too tired for any new words.

Another Ursai lumbers towards Yang, and she clenches her fists to start swinging, digs her heels into the hard ground and readies her attack. She’s cut off when a bloom of black fire swallows the Ursai and burns it to the ground.

What was _that?_

Before Yang can ask out loud, the answer pours onto the battlefield – team BSTR rushes in with their weapons out. Black fire glitters at Salome’s fingertips. Her plum coloured lips are pressed into a hard line. Relief crashes over Yang. 

Immediately, the tide begins to turn. Benedict wades into the fight and lays about with his broadsword. Salome leans hard on her semblance, but also wields a barbed whip that she swings mercilessly. Tristan –tall and slender, with delicate features—runs circles around the perimeter, firing dizzying rounds with a pair of embossed pistols, while the squat, sturdy Reese hammers the enemy with a heavy looking trident.

Bolstered by the reinforcements, team RWBY perks up. Yang is right with them, throwing punches with renewed vigor until she’s not sure where the enemy ends and her fists begin. At one point, she finds herself shoulder-to-shoulder with Salome. The other woman looks fierce, determined, whip flying, dozens of golden buttons gleaming on her heavily embroidered coat.

Yang grins at her. “Nice timing, BSTR.”

Salome matches her smile. “Nice heroics, RWBY.”

Yang snorts. They share one more glance before spinning away from each other and back into the fight. 

More shots. More hits. More screams from the Grimm. And then – finally – it’s over. BSTR and RWBY circle each other on the torn-up ground.

Ruby holds her hand out to Benedict. “Thanks,” she says. “We couldn’t have done that without you.”

Benedict tosses his head, but shakes Ruby’s hand. “I’m sure you would have been fine,” he says loftily. “Eventually.”

Yang sneers. Her adrenaline is still pumping, her hackles still up. And she _really_ doesn’t like Benedict’s tone. She knows that he and his team just saved all of their asses but… a part of her still wants to deck him. But he _did_ just save their asses, and (Yang’s eyes flick briefly towards Salome) maybe they’re not all that bad.

Yang lets out a breath, and claps Benedict on the shoulder. “Seriously. Thanks.” She looks at Salome again, and smiles. “All of you.”

When Yang glances at Blake, she sees Blake also watching Salome, eyes narrowed and suspicious. Surprise flickers in Yang, and she tilts her head to one side, tries to catch Blake’s eye, a silent question.

Blake doesn’t notice. “Salome,” she says instead, “That’s some semblance.”

Salome raises a quizzical eyebrow. “You liked it?” she asks.

“I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” says Blake, icy.

Yang’s eyes volley between them both. _What is Blake’s problem?_ she wonders. A fleeting thought occurs – was Blake jealous? Was that possible?

Salome looks equally perplexed. She smiles and shrugs helplessly. “I was just happy I could help.”

“Right.” Blake looks away, dismissive and cool. The awkward moment hangs in the air.

True to form, Ruby is the one that breaks it. “Anyone else _starving_ after that?" 

“You’re thinking about _food_ right now?” Weiss asks, aghast. 

Ruby shrugs. “Well, yeah. We kicked ass. I need carbs. Don’t you?”

Weiss breaks down immediately and sighs. “Yes,” she admits.

Ruby looks team BSTR over. It’s warm, earnest, friendly: the last traces of Blake’s attitude are wiped away. “Think you can show us where we can get something to eat around here in the middle of the night?”

Reese, the trident-wielder, grins. “Girl, we’ve got you,” he says. “Follow me.”

Ruby pumps her fist. She and Weiss follow Reese and the rest of BSTR towards the path.

Yang hangs back and looks sidelong at Blake. “Everything okay?”

“I’m not sure,” Blake says thoughtfully. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

“What, a cute girl falling from the sky to rescue us? I thought you’d be used to that by now.”

Blake makes a face. “You think she’s cute?” 

Yang freezes. She could kick herself. “I—I don’t know,” she fumbles. “Kind of? Don’t _you_?”

“I guess.”

 _Definitely jealous,_ Yang thinks. Panic that has nothing to do with monsters grips her. “She’s not as cute as _you_ ,” Yang says, helplessly.

Emotions flicker over Blake’s features: Displeasure. Puzzlement. And then… amusement? The fond kind? “ _Yang,_ ” she says, kind and exasperated. “I’m not worried about _that_.”

 _You’re not?_ Yang wonders. She feels absurd disappointment – she’s a catch! In high demand! Why _wouldn’t_ Blake be worried about her eyes straying? Unless…

Unless Blake didn’t feel as seriously about Yang as Yang did her. It’s never occurred to Yang that this was a _possibility_ before – not after everything they’d been through together, not after the tension and tenderness and love that has sprouted and twined between them. But they’d never talked. They’d never defined anything. They’d never even kissed. Could that be it?

Yang stares at Blake, suddenly miserable, completely unable to express it. Blake notices. Of course she notices. She reaches for Yang, and cups her cheek with one hand. Yang smells the tang of sweat and blood and earth. She leans into Blake’s touch automatically. Her eyes flutter closed.

“Hey,” Blake says softly. “Are _you_ okay?”

And that’s the thing: She is. Yang is tying herself in knots one minute, making her soft and dizzy with love the next. And that’s the thing: It’s love.

 _I’m in_ love _with her,_ Yang realizes.

And she’s known this, she’s _known_ this, for weeks, months, maybe even years, but she thinks that this is the first time it’s ever formed so crystal clear in her head, and she has no idea what to do with that. She keeps her eyes closed and nods.

“Still need a nursemaid?”

Yang’s eyes pop open. Blake’s eyes are smiling. Her lips are wicked. She’s completely oblivious to the revelation circling Yang’s thoughts, finding ways to knock Yang out anyway. 

“Yeah,” Yang says. She pushes her confessions aside (later, later) and joins in on the sly game. “I think a Beowolf got me. Right… here.” Yang points at her lips.

Blake’s smirk grows. “Let me help with that.” 

Blake leans closer to Yang. Lifts onto her tiptoes. Yang watches her, careful, anticipating, wide eyed—

“Are you guys coming or what?” 

Weiss – _why is it always Weiss?!—_ stands at the top of the hill, hands on her hips. Blake skips backwards. Yang is starting to get déjà vu. She sighs.

“Yeah. We’re coming.”

Later, later.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me???? end on the same cliffhanger two chapters in a row???? it's more likely than you think!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by reading this chapter you confirm that you are not erin twelveclara, you are in no way affiliated to erin twelveclara, you are not reading this fic on behalf of erin twelveclara or an associate of erin twelveclara. to the best of your knowledge, information, and belief, this fic will not make its way into the hands of erin twelveclara.

Reese takes team RWBY to the same lodge where they met BSTR and the mayor the previous afternoon. Since it’s the middle of the night, Yang expects dead quiet, but the room buzzes with activity – children, mostly, sleepy and bewildered and hungry and scared. Yang’s eyes widen.

“I didn’t know where else to send them,” Blake murmurs at Yang’s elbow. “This is good, though. We can make sure that everyone gets home.”

Yang nods, looks sidelong at Blake. She wonders what Blake is thinking right now. She wonders if Blake is thinking about her. But that’s nuts, right? There are more pressing, urgent matters at hand than mooning over the fall of a woman’s hair or the curve of her neck.

(Except that Yang is still thinking about Blake. Except that Yang’s not sure that _anything_ could be more urgent than the curve of Blake’s neck.)

“Maybe we should ask around,” says Yang, half to assure herself that her head is still in the game. “Snoop for clues.”

“Do you really think now is a great time for that?” asks Blake.

“I mean…”

“No, Yang’s right,” says Ruby. Her and Weiss stand nearby. “We _should_ ask around while everything is still fresh.” Ruby glances around the room quickly. “We can do it while we figure out how to get them all home. Kill two birds with one stone.”

Yang grins. “How long have you been waiting to be on a mission without Uncle Qrow so you could use that one?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Ruby’s retort is high and playful singsong.

Weiss rolls her eyes. “You two are terrible.”

“You’re just jealous ‘cause you _wish_ you had our wit,” says Yang. She nudges Weiss with her elbow. “Come on, Ice Princess. It’s cold enough without you turning on the charm.”

Weiss sticks her tongue out at Yang, and it neatly shatters any residual imperious sheen. Blake, as if on cue, shivers and wraps her arms around herself. Yang notices for the first time that in the dash to reach the mountaintop, Blake left her new coat behind. Her arms are bare and prickled with goosebumps.

“Are you cold, babe?” Yang asks. “Do you want to go back and get your coat?

Out of the corner or her eye, Yang sees Weiss and Ruby making eyes at each other and mouthing – _Babe?!—_ but Yang ignores them. Instead, she watches Blake with soft concern. 

Blake smiles and shakes her head. “I’m fine. Tristan got a fire going. We’ll all warm up soon.”

“Except Weiss,” Ruby adds brightly.

Weiss looks betrayed. “I thought you were on my side!” 

“Of course I am! But you know I hate to miss an opening. Come on, we can question people together.”

Weiss huffs softly – _hmph!—_ but lets Ruby steer her away. Yang and Blake watch, grinning, before their eyes are inevitably dragged back towards each other. Yang watches Blake carefully. New confessions of yearning spin in her mind and in her heart. They’ve come so close to spilling into each other in the last few days, a kiss lingering with permanence on the edges of their tongues, highlighting the air between them with gilded shimmer. Yang wants to tip it all over, tip Blake into her arms. She’s dizzy with it.

She sees Blake glance down at her lips once, and then twice, and then pained resolve harden in her eyes. Blake points across the room. “That’s Ellery.”

Yang looks and sees a girl, slight, with brown hair in two unravelling braids, a purple knit blanket wrapped around her shoulders, a tin cup clutched between her hands. “The friend of the mayor’s kid?” Yang asks.

“Yeah. Let’s go talk to her. When I was leading everyone off the mountain she seemed… smart. I think she might know something.” 

Yang follows Blake across the room. Ellery looks up when she sees them approach. She lowers her cup.

“Who made cocoa?” Yang asks, smiling at Ellery. She takes a seat next to her. Blake sits on Ellery’s other side. 

“Tristan,” says Ellery. “He makes it the best.” 

“Ellery, this is my friend Yang,” says Blake. “Would you mind if we sat with you for awhile?”

Ellery shrugs. “Nah. But my mom should be coming to pick me up soon.”

“That’s okay. We just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Another shrug. “I’m fine. It’s the third time the Butzemann has taken me.”

“The _third?”_ Yangs words come out stunned. “How often does this happen?”

“Um. A couple times a week. More towards the end of the month.” Ellery fidgets in her seat.

Over Ellery’s head, Blake and Yang exchange a puzzled, worried glance. A pattern can mean all sorts of things, but the end of the month usually boils down to the same reason – _money_. But what would a nightmare need with cash? There’s no money on the table here. Yang wonders what might be buried under their feet. She sees the wheels turning in Blake’s head and knows that she’s thinking the same thing.

“How does the… the Butzemann, uh… take you?” Yang asks. It’s been something she’s been wondering about since they arrived. “It’s a bit of a walk from here to the mountain." 

“I dunno.” Ellery looks uncomfortable. “It’s like – I always have nightmares. And when I wake up – I’m _there._ On the mountain.”

“And what happens then?”

“He just… scares us. I don’t know.” Ellery bites her lip. “I know it sounds stupid. I should be used to it by now. But the fear just like. Drowns me. I can’t explain it. It’s like it washes over me and all I can do is panic. And then the Grimm always come.”

Yang and Blake exchange a sharp look. Something about the way Ellery describes this rings a bell in both of their minds. 

“That sounds like a semblance,” Blake murmurs, and Yang is nodding before the words are out of her mouth. Yang know that they’re both thinking about Ren, the unique properties of his dampening semblance. Yang’s never heard of a semblance that _amplifies_ fear before (and she’s hard pressed to name an altruistic application for such a skill), but she’s also learning new things about Remnant every day.

“Why isn’t anybody taking this seriously?” Blake snaps in sudden outrage.

“I _told_ you,” Ellery says. “Nobody be _lieves_ us.”

“How can they _not_?”

Ellery sighs and looks frustrated. “They think it’s like, a prank or a trend and that nobody wants to ‘fess up because it always draws in Grimm.”

“But still…” Blake frowns. “It _is_ bringing in Grimm. Doesn’t that count for anything to these people?” 

“BSTR always says they have it under control.” Ellery stares into her cocoa. “They don’t believe us, either.”

Yang searches the room until she finds the members of BSTR – Benedict talks to a parent, looks serious and bored.

_Yeah,_ Yang thinks. _That dickwad would._

Then she sees Salome, and her frown softens. Yang doesn’t want to think bad of Salome’s team but – why were they taking this epidemic in such flippant stride? Why didn’t they care? 

Something wasn’t adding up.

Yang smiles at Ellery, punches her lightly in the arm. “Well, you kicked ass tonight,” she tells the girl. “That Butzemann will think twice before he takes you again.”

Ellery glows at the easy praise. Yang’s heart melts for her. How tragic, to be a child, and have something as basic and affirming as being _listened to_ feel so elusive.

“Listen,” Yang says. “I’m going to leave you with Blake until your mom – is it your mom coming?” (Ellery nods) “—until your mom comes to pick you up, okay? I have to talk to some other people.”

Ellery nods again. Blake tilts her head towards Yang curiously, and Yang jerks her thumb towards Benedict and Salome. _Recon,_ she mouths. Blake looks troubled, but turns back to Ellery, thoughtful and attentive.

_She’d make such a good mom,_ Yang thinks. The thought hits her like a sucker punch. A good _mom?!_ They haven’t even kissed, and Yang is going weak at the knees and planning their picket house family and future. Yang’s always thought of herself as a free spirit, someone who can’t be tied down, but she wants to be tied to Blake more than she’s wanted anything in her entire life.

_Get a grip, Xiao Long,_ she tells herself. _You have work to do._

Yang could spend hours getting lost in sappy daydreams, but she’s on a mission. So she marches across the room, stops when she’s face-to-face with Benedict and Salome. “Hey,” she says, a curt edge to her tone, “Can we talk?”

“Of course we can.” Salome twists a violet lock of hair around her index finger. “What’s going on?”

“Uh…” Yang rubs the back of her neck. “I was about to ask you the same question.”

Salome’s expression is wide and guileless, but Yang catches the split-second break when she looks at Benedict. “What do you mean?”

“Look. Uh. I’ve been talking to some of the kids. And I don’t want to tell any of you how to do your jobs, but—” (Salome’s gaze sharpens here, and Yang clocks it) “—I mean. I was up there, too. There was definitely _something_ after those kids. Why hasn’t anybody been listening to them?”

Benedict bristles, stops just short of rolling his eyes. “Of _course_ we listened to them. But come on. Monsters kidnapping them from their beds? Sounds a lot like a bunch of kids sneaking out past curfew and not wanting to get into trouble for drawing in a Grimm attack.”

It’s exactly what Ellery said he would say, but that doesn’t stop it from pissing Yang off all the same. “But we _saw_ it,” she says. Stubborn anger starts to lace her tone. “The Butzemann. Ruby _fought_ it.”

“Did she?” Benedict asks. “Or did she slice straight through a shadow?”

“She—” Yang frowns. “Yeah. That’s exactly what happened.”

“I’ve seen it too. Best I can guess, one of them has an illusion-based semblance.”

“They’re _ten._ ”

“So?” Benedict cocks his head. “I unlocked mine younger than that. I’m willing to bet you did young, too.”

“I was twelve,” Yang admits. “But I didn’t know how to _do_ anything with it until I was older.” 

“Well, maybe kids just have less to do out here in the boonies.” 

Yang thinks about how she grew up on an island with a population of about eighteen people, and how profoundly wrong Benedict is. And she thinks about telling him that – a year ago, she _would_ have been telling him that – but now she asks herself: Just what will that accomplish? Instead, she lets her eyes and her thoughts drift to Salome, suspiciously quiet throughout this exchange, her eyes trained studiously on the floor. A niggling thought begins to form in the back of Yang’s head. She looks back at Benedict and tries not to scowl.

“So what _is_ your semblance?” Yang asks.

Benedict smirks. “Now, if I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”

Yang sighs. More smoke, more mirrors. She’s so tired of the truth being obscured arrogance (Ozpin. Raven. Probably more who had yet to come out of the woodwork). She doesn’t have the time, the energy, or frankly the emotional capacity to press on the fissures of someone who she not only doesn’t care about, but who actively irritates her. So Yang just shrugs. 

“My mom always told me I was too pretty to die.”

And then she turns away. Still, the questions claw at the back of her mind, ghostlike, a haunted sensory meridian response. Benedict and Salome. What aren’t they telling her? What did they know? And what could they possibly have to gain here?

The churn of Yang’s thoughts is interrupted when Tristan approaches, trailed by Ruby and Weiss. Tristan carries a tray scattered with glass mugs. The liquid inside is too cherry-rich to be cocoa, and after the ricochet of a night Yang’s had, she thinks, _thank fuck,_ before he even offers her the tray with a friendly and inquisitive “Mulled wine?”

Behind him, Weiss raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t it a little late?”

“It is not.” Yang reaches out immediately and takes the glass. She swallows half of it in one draught, and it pours over her tongue, burns down her throat, flares in her chest. Warmth and the heady taste of the grapes sear the frayed, tired edges of Yang’s tension. She sighs, lets her shoulders drop, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

Yang starts to take a second drink, but another glass flits into her vision and clinks against hers in a toast.

“Cheers,” says Blake. Her eyes glitter, She takes a restrained sip of wine. And Yang loves her. Yang loves her. Yang loves her. Her quiet intensity, the determination burning underneath it. Her striking good looks, dark hair, golden eyes. The way she drinks everything, tea or wine or water or nectar, like it’s something delicate.

“Fuck,” says Yang. “I can’t believe you tackled an Ursa tonight.”

“And won!” Ruby pipes in.

Yang and Blake both smile fondly at that, but they only have eyes for each other now, and Yang wonders, as ever, what Blake is thinking. 

“Ellery’s moms came to pick her up,” Blake murmurs. “I think almost everyone has gotten home safe.”

Yang glances around the room quickly (enough to take in how it has emptied) and then back to Blake. A knot she didn’t even know she was carrying uncurls from around her spine. One piece tucked away, a billion more to go.

She grins at Blake. “So what you’re saying is... we’re unchaperoned.”

“ _Please,_ ” Weiss groans. “ _I_ am your chaperone, and it has been _too long_ a night to watch you two flirt.”

“No such thing.” Yang flaps her hand towards Weiss dismissively. Out of the corner of her eye, Yang notices that Weiss, despite her protests, is clutching a gently steaming glass of mulled wine like it’s a lifeline. Ruby, never big on drinking, does the same. Yang drains her glass and snatches another from the tray. Well, they had all had a big night.

Blake clinks her glass against Yang’s one more time. “Cheers again,” she says. A small smile plays over her lips, and ( _sorry, Weiss)_ it’s absolutely flirtatious. Again, Yang sees Weiss on the peripheral of her sight. She’s rolling her eyes, but she’s also smiling, and dragging Ruby and assorted members of team BSTR towards the fireplace. Yang, alone with Blake, raises her glass again, and sips.

“Did you make a wish?” Yang asks. 

Blake’s brow creases. “Did I make a _what?_ ”

“You know. For the toast.”

“That’s not a thing, Yang.” 

“But it _could_ be.” Yang studies Blake’s face carefully, the cut of her cheekbones, the bemused love in her eyes. “I know what I wished for.”

And Blake softens. And Yang melts. “What did you wish for?” Blake asks.

Yang feels her breath catch. _You,_ she wants to say. She didn’t actually make a wish, but she doesn’t need to. All of her wishes (every cracked bone, every birthday candle, every shooting star) are for Blake.

_You, and you, and you,_ she wants to say, but the words are still too tender, and they stick in her throat. 

“Oh, you know,” Yang says. Casual insouciance belies her heart. “Fame. Fortune. Something to punch. The usual.” 

Blake snorts, but Yang thinks (or does she just imagine?) that she sees a flicker of disappointment in her eyes.

The moment between them breaks (and lodges in the growing catalogue of Yang’s heart) as they wind their way to the rest of the group. Ruby is sprawled on a couch, taking up more than half of it. Weiss sits on the floor, legs tucked underneath her. Yang shoves Ruby to one side and sits down next to her, and Ruby sticks her tongue out at Yang and plants her feet on the ground. Her face already looks flushed from the wine, and Yang fondly wonders how she ended up with such a lightweight for a little sister. Blake scans the space: The empty armchairs, the carpet by the fire, the spot on the floor next to Weiss – and squeezes into the tiny space next to Yang on the couch, wedged between its threadbare arm and Yang’s own thigh.

Yang doesn’t need wine to feel like a badass –that comes naturally—but it certainly helps embolden her when she stretches languorously and rests her arm along the back of the couch and around Blake’s shoulders. Blake snuggles in closer to Yang, and Yang congratulates herself on making a decision of infinite returns.

“This is awesome,” says Yang. Her glance flicks from Blake to the glass in her hand to the members of team BSTR, clustered on the armchairs opposite team RWBY. “Thanks, Tristan.”

Tristan looks a little bit bashful when he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles. Next to the arrogance of Benedict and the sly coolness of Salome, he comes off nearly shy.

“It’s _awesome,_ ” Ruby repeats. “Nobody ever makes us anything like this.”

“Well, who would?” Yang asks, grinning. “Blake? She can’t even boil water without setting off the smoke alarms.”

“Hey!” Blake pokes Yang in the ribs. “That was _one_ time.”

“And it was _one_ embarrassing story to tell the fire department,” Yang retorts. “Sorry, sir. Our roommate is a hot slob.”

Blake makes an outraged noise, but she’s smiling, and she’s still leaning into Yang. Yang’s smile grows until she’s sure that it’s dopey and takes another slug of wine.

“I can mull wine,” Weiss says, and everyone’s heads jerk in surprise.

“Who taught you?” Yang asks. “Your mulling butler?” 

“Klein did!” Weiss says defensively. She considers her words for a moment and then looks resigned. “So, I suppose... yes. Sort of.”

“Wish you’d bonded with your cookie butler, too,” Ruby says longingly, and everyone breaks into laughter. 

“Tristan learned to cook in the circus,” Salome says suddenly. “We grew up there together.”

“This _circus_?” Ruby squeaks, palpably excited. “That is _so cool!_ ”

“Was that the Illyuziya?” Weiss asks. Salome nods, and Weiss claps her hands together. “Oh, I _loved_ that circus when I was a little girl! That _is_ so... cool.”

“Sometimes it was,” Salome admits, but a thoughtful, faraway look clouds her eyes. “Sometimes we were too broke to appreciate the whimsy. You’ve gotta do some wild things to make ends meet sometimes, you know?”

Blake’s ears flick forward, and Yang feels her shoulders tense underneath the weight of her arm.

“The tent with the tigers made of light,” Weiss continues, blowing past Salome’s comment with the blithe ignorance of the very wealthy. “That was always my _favourite._ I asked my mother for one every year until...” Weiss trails off awkwardly.

Until she shut herself up and started drinking to forget her family _,_ is what Yang knows Weiss is thinking. Until the despair became too much to bear, even for the sake of family, even for the sake of Weiss. Yang looks down at Weiss, and sees the memories turning sour all over her face. She nudges Weiss with her foot.

“Hey,” Yang says brightly. “Who needs a tiger. You know how to mull _wine._ ”

Relief breaks over Weiss’s face in a smile.

“What did you do?” Blake asks suddenly. “In the circus.” 

“Oh!” Salome looks surprised, disarmed, flustered. “I um. I. The light tigers, actually.” 

Weiss lights up. Blake’s eyes narrow. Yang’s glance volleys between them. Yang knows, with the clarity of the very obvious, that Blake dislikes Salome. What she still can’t figure out is _why._ She wishes that they were alone, where she could ask. Briefly wonders if Blake would even tell her the truth, but – no. Blake’s mysterious brooding doesn’t touch Yang anymore. It doesn’t touch any of team RWBY – but especially, it doesn’t touch Yang. There’s a covenant between them now ( _we’re protecting each other,_ the ever-present rhythm that Yang sets her heart to.)  

“Well,” Ruby says brightly. “If it taught Tristan to cook, maybe we should all join the circus!”

It cracks the tension in the way that only Ruby knows how to, and soon everyone is laughing and clinking glasses again, and Weiss is peppering Salome with questions and tidbits from the circus, and Yang feels Blake relax, feels Blake’s head lean against her shoulder. When the four of them can be alone, Yang thinks that they’ll all have pieces to fit together, but for now, still that wild blend of wired and exhausted from the battle, they need to unwind.

“It’s a shame you’re not here under better circumstances,” Tristan says later, when they’ve refilled the copper pitcher from the pot bubbling over the stove. “This really can be a fun place to visit.”

“If you don’t mind winter,” Salome puts in. “But in the mountains, there’s hiking and skiing...” 

“Oh, I _love_ to ski,” Weiss says, wistful.  

“Not for me.” Yang thinks it over a moment. “But maybe snowboarding.” 

“There’s that, too,” Benedict assures her.

“Nice.” In her cups, Yang almost finds Benedict bearable. She throws him a crooked smile, and they bump fists. 

“There’s hot springs, too,” Benedict adds. 

“Oh, those are the _best_ part,” says Salome. “I haven’t been in _ages._ ”

“I think I read about those,” says Weiss. “Wasn’t there a legend attached to them?”

Benedict waves a dismissive hand. “Something silly about moons and true love.”

“It’s not silly,” Salome says sharply. “It’s romantic. They say... if you bathe in the springs on the full moon with someone you love, you’ll always be together.”

It is silly. And romantic. And Yang turns to Blake without thinking and finds Blake doing the same, her face so close that Yang can feel warm breath on her cheek.

“Maybe I should take you there someday,” Yang murmurs, low enough for nobody else to hear.

“We don’t need legends,” Blake replies.

Yang feels her heart thump. It takes everything in her brain to not bend Blake back and kiss her right now. It takes seven sets of eyes burning into them both to truly stop her.

Yang turns away from Blake, but resettles her arm around her shoulder. “Still,” she says, “It could be fun. Did you bring a swimsuit?”

“No.”

Yang grins. “Even better.”  

Blake elbows Yang before they both dissolve into laughter.

 

 

It’s by definition the wee hours when everyone starts the walk back to the hotel, heels and boots sliding on the ice, heads spinning in a warm and friendly fog. Ruby dips ahead in weaving bursts of rose petals and hurls snowballs at Weiss, who screams with the same giddy indignance every time she gets hit, which sets Ruby off into giggles and then a new attack, a puppy after the year’s first snowfall. Yang and Blake hang back. Their hands find their ways to each other and the cold night air can’t touch them.  Every ten paces one of them sneaks a smile and a glance at the other, until finally Blake catches Yang (Yang catches Blake) in the act.

“You’re staring,” says Blake.

“You’re beautiful,” says Yang.

A snowball hits Yang in the side of the head.

“ _Ruby!_ ” Yang feels the snowball sizzle and evaporate in her frustrated hair. She hears Ruby’s answering giggle. A rueful look at Blake ( _duty calls, babe_ ) and then Yang chases Ruby the rest of the stretch to the hotel, tackles her into the snow on the front lawn and rubs her face in it. 

“I yield! I yield!” Ruby says, almost laughing too hard to speak. Her face is bright pink from the night and the laughter and the drops of ice still melting in her hair and eyelashes. Yang decides to let her gracefully concede. She helps Ruby up. Ruby immediately lobs another handful of snow into Yang’s face and bolts. The front door of the inn _slams_ before Yang has even registered what has happened. 

“ _Et tu, Ruby?_ ”  Yang shouts after her sister. She staggers, her hand pressed over her heart.

Blake and Weiss catch up. Blake pats Yang on the shoulder. “Let it go, babe,” she says. Yang sighs in defeat. She follows Blake and Weiss inside.

The tone shifts imperceptibly but instantly when the door clicks them behind them all, when they troop into Weiss and Ruby’s room and sprawl in a loose circle on the ground, when they eye each other, weighing and sussing what the others may or may not know, letting the last warm traces of wine seep from their skin as focus etches in.

“So,” Yang says finally. “We all agree BSTR did it, right?”

Cacophony.

“Totally!” Ruby shouts. “They totally did!”

“Shhh!” Weiss holds a finger to her lips. “Do you want to wake the whole hotel? But yes, absolutely. Shady doesn’t even begin to cover those... those...”

“Rapscallions?” Blake asks. There’s a shared history in Blake’s lightness using that word, but everyone is too keyed up to clock it. 

Weiss points at Blake. “ _Rapscallions._ Exactly.”

Everyone starts talking after that, words jumbling and overlapping.

“I think that they—”

“—Did you _notice_ that _Salome—”_

“I found—”

“—and after that, it was so _obvious!_ ”

Finally, Yang has had enough. She puts two fingers in her mouth and lets loose with an ear piercing whistle. Everyone goes quiet.

“I can’t believe I’m the one saying this,” says Yang, “But we need some kind of order here. Ruby, you go first.” 

Ruby nods. She’s the leader, and it’s a mantle she’s been settling gracefully under these days. She wouldn’t expect anything less. She takes a deep breath. “I talked to Tristan—"

“The one who was in the circus with Salome,” Weiss interrupts.

Ruby wrinkles her nose at Weiss. “Yeah. Him. I talked to him while we were checking on everybody after the fight. And he let some interesting things slip about team BSTR. Like, they’ve been hanging on by a thread of protectors of this town. Like, maybe this whole mess with the Butzemann is the only thing keeping them employed.” 

“I heard the same thing,” Weiss adds. “From one of the mothers. Neiden doesn’t have much money, and it’s usually quite peaceful. The only reason they _need_ huntsmen right now is because there’s an active Grimm threat terrorizing everyone.” 

“So that’s motive,” Ruby picks up the thread again. “But how? How could they possibly...?” 

“It’s Salome!”  That’s Blake, looking uncharacteristically agitated. The words practically burst from her lips. “It’s her semblance.”

Everyone turns to Blake. “Huh?” Yang asks.

“It’s like Emerald’s,” says Blake. “She masks it as black fire, but when I saw her fight, I suspected it. When Weiss said that thing about the light tigers, I was sure of it. She’s an illusion spinner. She made up the Butzemann. That’s why Ruby’s weapon went straight through it.”

“But what about the kids?” asks Weiss. “The way they described their terror felt... primal somehow.”

“I think that’s Benedict,” Yang says, happy to finally have a piece of the puzzle to add.

“You _think_?”

“Yeah. He was mega cagey with me earlier. Like, _mega._ And well... you all talked to the kids too, didn’t you? The way they described that “primal fear,” like a blanket settling over them, didn’t it sound kind of familiar?”

“Ren.” Blake’s voice alights like a bulb has been suddenly flicked on again in her head. “It sounds like the inverse of Ren’s semblance.”

Yang shoots finger guns towards Blake and winks. “Exactly” 

“ _That’s_ what you have to contribute?” Weiss asks archly. “A _hunch_?” 

“Hey!” Yang’s hackles rise. “Not just any hunch. A _great_ hunch. And with everything else we know now, it kind of adds up, don’t you think?”

Weiss sighs. “Yeah. It does. I just wish it didn’t. I almost...”

“Liked them?” asks Yang. She smiles ruefully. “Yeah. I did, too.”

Blake looks haughty. “ _I_ never did.”

“Well, you’re naturally suspicious,” Yang says, grinning at Blake. The set of Blake’s jaw softens and she sticks her tongue out at Yang.

Weiss sighs again. “I suppose this is just a nail in the coffin now, but I do have one more thing to add.” Weiss fishes around in the pocket of her jacket and comes up with: An elegantly stamped gold button. She places it on the floor between them all with a definitive _click._ “I found this at the cave. When I was putting up glyphs earlier this evening. I didn’t know what it meant at the time, but..." 

“That’s from Salome’s jacket!” Yang says. Realization makes her voice loud, but nobody bothers to shush her.

“Exactly.” Weiss sounds grim.

“And if you found it _before_ the fight...” Blake trails off thoughtfully.

Ruby picks up the button and turns it over in her hand. Hard determination and a decision mingle in her silver eyes. “I think that first thing tomorrow,” she says, “We have to have a serious _chat_ with team BSTR.”

The gold button glints, as though in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a small shoutout to my friend haley in here. if you're not reading her incredible bumbleby ski au [you're a mountain, full of glory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18170048), well, what are you waiting for?!
> 
> and as ever, thanks for reading!! 💕✌️


	5. Chapter 5

****The next morning, there is no time wasted on pleasantries, gentle flirting, or even breakfast. Ruby (the last person Yang ever thought would blow off cocoa and blintzes with thick apricot jam) is adamant.

“This ends today,” she says, a stubborn set to her jaw. Weiss, Blake, and Yang nod. Yang checks on Ember Celica at her wrist, sees Weiss out of the corner of her eye with Myrtenaster strapped to her hip, easily accessible. Ruby isn’t the only one not playing.

The walk back to the lodge is a photo negative of the playful amble from the night before. It’s like now that they’ve consolidated their suspicions and made a plan, nobody on the team has the wherewithal for games. Yang’s memory flashes with images of them all around the fire: BSTR, joking, laughing, drinking wine. _Maybe there’s a reasonable explanation,_ a small part of Yang suggests. She swats it away. That she even wants to make excuses for these people only makes her angrier. She feels her semblance crackling below her skin like a wildfire, begging to charge and ignite.

RWBY arrives, and it’s like a meeting set in stone: BSTR stands clustered around the doors, waiting for Benedict to unlock them. Ruby points at him. It’s dramatic, but effective. Benedict looks up, freezes, quirks a brow.

“We need to talk,” Ruby says gravely.

“I’ll say,” Benedict has that same smug blur to his voice, and Yang’s surety in hating his fucking guts firms up. “What kind of greeting is that? We _all_ need to have a talk about your manners.”

“ _My_ manners _,_ ” Weiss says, “Are impeccable. I know how to say please, thank you, properly greet twelve kinds of nobility. And oh yeah, I never _kidnap and torture children and then gaslight them about it_.”

“It’s true,” Blake speaks; quiet, angry, wry. “She’s a real stickler for all of that.”

Tristan’s jaw actually drops. Yang clocks a glimmer of panic in Reese’s eyes, and sees Benedict’s mask slip for a hair of a moment. Salome is impassive, which makes Yang angriest of all.

“What,” Benedict asks stiffly, “Are you implying?”

“I think you know.” Ruby remains steadfast, her silver eyes burning a hole through them all. “And I think you know that we’re onto you, or would be soon. Why else make a big show of coming to our rescue last night?”

Salome barks with laughter, but Yang doesn’t find it charming anymore. It’s only haughty and strange. “You’re accusing us of these things because we _helped_ you?” she asks incredulously. “Unbelievable.” 

“Uh, how about because you’re all shady as fuck?” Yang asks. She can’t (she won’t) mind her tongue or her temper anymore. “You lie about your semblances, you’re the _only_ ones who benefit from any of this, and Weiss literally found your button at the scene of the crime last night.” 

“Oh yeah!” Weiss fishes out the button and waves it into the air. “Yeah! What do you have to say about _that,_ BSTR?”  

Salome doesn’t falter, but Yang sees her eyes track the movement of the button as Weiss waves it, sees the nervousness slip into the back of her eyes.

Reese is the first to crack. “I told you we shouldn’t have gone out last night,” he mumbles.

Benedict elbows him hard in the ribs. “Shut. _Up!_ ” 

Reese scowls. “What? They’re right. We’re sunk.”

“Well yeah, _now_ we are,” Tristan retorts. “Now that you’ve marched in with your big, stupid mouth.”

Reese’s lips bunch even tighter. “You’re mixing metaphors.”

“I’ll be mixing your—”

“He’s right.” Ruby manages to sound commanding and impatient all at once, and though she’s supremely irritated, Yang still takes a beat to let a ray of pride sneak in for her sister. “We _were_ onto you. You _are_ sunk. And we _won’t_ let this go on.”

“But thanks for confessing and making it that much easier for us,” Yang pipes in, unable to resist one more jab.

Benedict shrugs, spreads his arms wide. “So what? What are you gonna do? Run us out of town?”

Yang smirks. She raises her fist and feels Ember Celica slide into place. “Uh, yeah. That’s exactly what we’re gonna do.”

Salome’s eyes narrow. Her hand flutters towards the barbed coil at her hip. “Look. This is _our_ town.” Her words fall like ice. “And we protect it _our_ way. So if you’re really that hot to get us out of here...” Salome’s grip around her whip tightens. “...You’ll have to make us.”

If Yang weren’t a trained huntress, she’d never have seen Salome coming. But since she _is_ a trained huntress, she raises her arms defensively and catches the lash of Salome’s whip around her metal forearm instead of on her cheek.

“Yang!” Blake shouts. The sheer, impulsive panic in that word twists at Yang’s heart.

“I’m fine,” Yang says gruffly. It’s all she has _time_ to say before all of BSTR swarms them, even Reese, the tender-hearted weak link, their weapons drawn, their faces wild with determined, cornered fear. Yang hears metallic scraping and catches Weiss drawing Myrtenaster out of the corner of her eye, sees Crescent Rose unfurl in Ruby’s grasp. Relief crashes in Yang. Of course RWBY has her back.

Yang turns back to Salome – and if the other woman looks livid (her normally cool features twisted into an angry mask), Yang things it’s nothing to the furious revulsion she’s feeling. “How _could_ you?” she asks. “They’re _kids._ ”

“They were _fine,_ ” Salome snarls. “We were there to protect them.”

“Protect them?!” Yang is aghast, and it shows, in her tone, in the way her eyes widen and her body recoils, even as it tenses for battle.

Salome’s expression only darkens. “You have no idea what it’s like. You have no idea what we’ve had to do to survive.”

“I don’t want to know. I just want you to get out of my face.”  

Instead of responding, Salome flicks her whip back, and flings out her hand, palm thrust outward. Black smoke billows out, and out, and out, until Yang sees – the Butzemann. Yang punches instinctively, but her arm ghosts through the smoke. She punches again on pure reflex, with identical results – except that Salome’s whip snakes forward this time and coils itself around Yang’s wrist. The Butzemann collapses, but Yang stays tethered to Salome. Sharp barbs bite into her skin, worm their way through the cracks in her gauntlet, and Yang hisses in pain and jerks her arm. Salome stumbles forward, and Blake sweeps in to trip her up. Salome falls the rest of the way to the ground, and Yang shakes off the cling of her weapon.

Blake tosses her hair over one shoulder. Her eyes meet Yang’s and she winks. “Got your back,” she says, “Always.”

Yang doesn’t even have time to be flustered. Tristan leaps to Salome’s aid, his embossed pistols drawn. He fires two angry shots at Blake, whose eyes widen as her semblance blurs. The shots fly through a dark ghost, and Blake locks her weapon into place and returns fire at Tristan. She nods at Yang ( _I’ve got this!_ ) and Yang’s chest expands with relief she didn’t even know she was holding onto. Her hair whips her face as she turns, laying out the land in her mind’s eye.

Ruby and Weiss both fight Benedict, who chops with his broadsword with bone-shuddering force. Yang sees Weiss trip lightly away from a heavy blow, and then Ruby dart into the space to catch Benedict’s sword with the curved blade of Crescent Rose. Their weapons lock: Metal screeches, and a flurry of sparks shower down. Benedict bears down on Ruby, and Ruby grits her teeth. Her arms tremble, but she holds – long enough for Weiss to leap gracefully in the air, arc over Benedict’s head in a twirling flip, and land at his rear. She points with Myrtenaster and shoots at icy glyph. It collides with Benedict’s back, and he stumbles forward with a grunt. Ruby’s grimace turns into a feral grin, and she rapidly disengages from Benedict and fires two close range shots at his chest. Benedict’s aura flickers lightly, but doesn’t break, and Yang sees sheer, impatient frustration wash over Ruby’s features before she lunges at Benedict again. 

“Why won’t you just _fight me!_ ”

Yang looks to the source of the shouting and sees – Blake, still engaged with Tristan. Tristan fires round after round at Blake, but Blake throws off her semblance with such rapid fire that he only hits mist. It’s dizzying – Yang can’t even tell where Blake has gone – and then – _there!_ Yang sees her, circling behind Tristan. Blake raises her weapon, prepares to wield it like a billy club and clock Tristan in the back of the head, but he’s too fast: He turns on his heel and catches the butt of Blake’s sword between two crossed pistols. Just as quickly, he hauls off and kicks Blake in the stomach. Blake doubles over, and Yang feels the wind knock out of Blake as vividly as if it had happened to her.

“Hey!” Yang yells. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”

(Yang thinks she might have height on Tristan, but she’s too suffused with fury to let petty things like _logic_ weigh her down right now. She leaps to Blake’s side in three wide strides.)

And Tristan is so focused on Blake, that he doesn’t see it coming when Yang punches Tristan in the temple with every ounce of strength that she has. Tristan’s aura flickers, and Yang feels grim satisfaction. He whirls to face her and fires a shot at Yang’s chest without blinking. Yang takes the hit, and her aura holds – but still, it feels like a heavy rock has wedged itself in her sternum. Yang takes a deep breath and lets the pain channel into something else in her blood – something stronger, something _more._ For a moment (only a moment) she feels her eyes spark crimson, and she hauls it all into another punch – an uppercut that connects with Tristan’s jaw and sends him flying several feet away. Distantly, Yang watches Salome scramble to her partner’s side, but she only really has eyes for Blake now: Yang grabs her by the shoulder and tilts her chin up with two fingers. There’s a gentleness to the touch that’s at odds with the chaos that surrounds them and with the frantic panic that she’s feeling in her marrow.

“Are you okay?” Yang asks.

Blake draws in a shaky breath. “I’m fine,” she says. “I’m—”

Blake stumbles, and Yang catches her. “Hey, hey,” she says softly. “What happened?”

“Just got the wind knocked out of me.” Blake straightens up, draws steely resolve around her like a cloak. “Go ahead _.”_

“But I—”

Blake cuts Yang off by pressing their mouths together. It’s swift, fierce, and short, but for Yang, it lasts a lifetime. Blake’s lips are soft where Yang thinks they should be wind-chapped. And Yang tastes the barest traces of salt. And she wants to lean into Blake, wants to drink in the moment and wallow in it— 

But Blake pulls away and briefly rests the back of her hand against Yang’s cheek. A tiny smile flickers over her lips. “ _Go.”_ She says. “I’ll be fine.”

That’s the last thing Yang wants to do. Still, she gulps, nods, wide eyed. Spins on her heel and comes face to face with Reese. 

(Oh _that’s_ where Reese went, Yang thinks.)

“You’re really going to fight me?” Yang asks. “Come on. Some part of you must know you’re better than this.”

Reese looks troubled. “Some part of me does.” His weight shifts, the heavy grip on his trident tightens. “But they’re family.”

That’s the first punch that hits Yang. Because she _feels_ that – in the fingerprints that Ruby and Weiss and Blake have left on her heart, in the heady stain that Blake has left on her mouth (her mind still fizzy with it, but she needs to focus, focus, focus). She _gets_ that, perhaps nearly as much as she gets Salome’s desperation, perhaps parallel, perhaps more. It doesn’t give him a pass though, not through Yang.

The second punch that hits Yang is the flat of Reese’s trident, and it knocks her off balance. Her heels skid on the ground, gain purchase. The next swing, Yang catches. She shoves it back at Reese, hard enough for the butt of the handle to knock into him. Yang jabs and fires a shot at Resse. His aura and heavy breastplate protect him from true damage, but he stumbles backwards and grunts.   

Reese recovers quickly. He lifts trident, cocks it, and fires. Bullets fly from each tine and the briefest flare of shock rocks Yang (his trident is a _gun_?! Stupid, Yang. Everything is a gun) before she’s dodging whizzing rounds of lead and making her way into Reese’s space. She fires three quick punches in succession, but Reese flips his trident over and twirls it defensively, and Yang’s hits only land on steel. She swings again, comes at Reese from the side, but he ducks –surprisingly quick for someone so sturdy—and returns the attack with a swing of his weapon. Yang mirrors him and also ducks, weaves around his next attack and spots – there, an opening in Reese’s circle of defense. Her leg unfurls in a sharp kick that _lands –_ and Reese’s aura breaks. Yang feels it shudder with as much satisfaction as crunching bone. She kicks Reese again, hits the same fissure, and he falls to his knees in a daze.

Meanwhile, Blake faces a tag team of Tristan and Salome – but, Yang is quick to realize (bursting with pride, bursting with love), she’s more than holding her own, between her semblance and the cartridges of dust she keeps loading into her weapon. Salome’s whip snakes forward, but Blake leaps into the air to avoid it. Tristan fires into the sky after her, but Blake is ready for that, too, dodging bullets with a deft twist of her frame. She lands and fires her own weapon, and Tristan and Salome both dive out of the way to avoid getting hit.

Across the road, Ruby and Weiss have Benedict on the ropes. Both use Benedict’s height and heavy weapon against him – Weiss through light jabs and complex manoeuvres with Myrtenaster, Ruby through sheer, semblance-enhanced speed. Benedict’s aggravation becomes increasingly obvious as he swats at them both like lightning quick flies.

And Yang takes a beat. And Yang takes a breath. And Yang weighs where she’s most needed next. Her fists feel powerful. Her semblance itches underneath her skin. She’s ready to fucking punch someone’s lights out.

Until Benedict _roars_ , his temper finally getting the better of him. He slashes out with his broadsword and catches Ruby in the side before she can funnel away in a stream of petals again. Ruby squeaks and falls to the ground, and Yang feels her feet moving before her mind can catch up. Then Benedict thrusts his sword point first into the ground and then—and then—

A wave of nausea roils through Yang, striking enough to almost bring her to her knees. Cold fear verging on panic surges through her. Her wild gaze darts towards Ruby still on the ground. _Is she dead? Is she dead? She must be dead, holy shit, what the fu—_

Yang, thoughts racing, thinks that she might throw up. Thinks that she might scream. Ruby is climbing to her feet, but the panic still feels too real, the frenetic thrum of _I couldn’t save her._

Myrtenaster falls to the ground with a clatter, and Weiss is on her knees, eyes brimming with tears, hands tearing at her hair. The stubborn, constant resolve in Ruby’s features are giving way to something older, something sad – Yang remembers the months after Summer had left, the fear and the tears and the ever-present _why?_ And feels it clog her lungs and her heart with pain. Yang, for the first time in her life, wants to turn and run away with her tail between her legs. She lets it blind her, starts to turn—

And Blake catches her by the shoulders. “It’s his semblance, remember?” she asks, soft, firm. “Fear and panic. You just have to work through it.” 

“I—” Yang’s voice cracks. “I can’t.”

“You _can._ ” Blake’s voice cuts through everything like an icy balm. “You’re Yang. You can do anything.” 

But Yang still has so much to fear. She’s six years old and doesn’t know how to make Ruby stop crying. She’s ten and wondering when someone will hold her hand, stroke her hair, tell her that she’s good. Fourteen and wanting badly, so badly, for someone to see the soul underneath the wild blonde hair and megawatt grin and to tell her that she’s more than insubstantial. She’s seventeen and feeling steel shear through bone. She’s seventeen and Blake is leaving. Yang’s arm starts to tremble.

“You’re _Yang.”_ Blake says again. “You can do _anything._ ” 

Blake’s voice, her sureness, cuts through the haze, a firefly in the fog, the lighthouse in the stormy sea. Yang draws in a long, shuddering breath. And then another. And then another. 

“I’m Yang.” Her voice sounds small in her ears. “I can do anything.”

“Anything you want, baby.”

“I’m Yang.” Yang repeats. Her mind starts to clear. The fear is still there, but Blake is the lodestone that makes it bearable, lets her channel it into something _more_. Her eyes scour the battlefield, bloom in crimson as her skin grows hot. They land on Weiss (still in her knees, still in pieces) and then on Benedict before her, his heavy sword swinging in an overhead arc. Yang races in without thinking. She meets Benedict on the downswing and catches the flat of his blade between her palms. Benedict lets out a noise of surprise.

“I knew I didn’t like you,” Yang quips. She shoves Benedict’s sword back at him, and its hilt knocks him between the eyes. In the opening that this gives her, Yang lunges for Benedict and punches him in the jaw with all the strength she can muster. Benedict goes flying backwards. Cobblestones scour and tear from the ground in his wake. He lands on the ground and doesn’t get up again.

The last of the artificial fear drains from Yang. She looks over her shoulder, and sees Weiss and Ruby shaking it off as well. And beyond them, Blake (beautiful Blake, who is solid and who sees her and is _there_ ), who points, her mouth opening to shout a warning. Yang spins on her heel. 

Tristan and Salome are still on their feet – and so, to Yang’s surprise, is Reese, despite his broken aura. _Tenacious,_ Yang thinks. She might have spared an iota of respect for him, too, but a hail of bullets rain down on her then, and Yang’s too busy diving to the ground to spare a thought for anyone else. 

Ruby spins Crescent Rose, a whirling shield, and deflects most of the bullets. Weiss throws up a glyph that nullifies the rest of them. Yang scrambles to her feet, and the three of them run in step towards the enemy. Blake is ahead of them, and Yang can see her gunning for Salome. She jerks her head towards Ruby, and Ruby nods. Her and Weiss split off to circle Tristan. Yang sets her sights on Reese. 

“Weiss! Ice Flower!” Ruby starts shooting without looking, but Weiss takes it in stride. She loads two cartridges of ice dust and shoots twice – each encase one of Ruby’s bullets. Ruby’s aim is unerring, ingenious. One hits the pistol in Tristan’s left hand, the other his right. Both freeze over instantly, and Tristan hisses and drops them. The pistols glow and shatter on the ground. Ruby and Weiss sweep in. Ruby cocks Crescent Rose at Tristan. Weiss points Myrtenaster, the line of her arm to her wrist a perfect, elegant line. Tristan grimaces and raises his hands in defeat.

Reese is already panting when he comes face to face with Yang. Yang almost feels sorry for him. Reese swings his trident – slow, too slow – and Yang ducks under it easily and dodges into his range. She punches Reese hard in the arm. It goes numb. His fingers go slack, and his trident drops. Yang punches the other arm and it dangles uselessly. She darts behind Reese and wraps her arm around his neck, and he concedes by sinking to his knees.

A furied screech draws Yang’s attention. Blake and Salome are locked in battle, their whips extended and locked together in an angry tug of war. Both reach for dust: Howling wind blows from Blake, lightning snakes out from Salome, and they collide in the middle and ricochet. Salome slashes out and a shadowy monster materializes, and Blake blurs out a clone. The two dark figures clash in brief battle, and then Blake gains the upper hand with their whips, and wrenches Salome’s out of her grasp. Blake swings both whips forward and _runs._ She cocoons Salome as the wind and lightning dies out, and Salome falls to the ground and struggles like a fish. Blake’s shoulders hunch, and then release. When she turns away from Salome, she’s scowling.

“This guy doesn’t know how to stay down,” Weiss snaps.

Yang looks. Benedict is up again. He looks murderous. 

Yang tosses her hair. “We better make this one count, then.” She looks sidelong at Ruby.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Ruby asks.

Yang smirks. “Try not to shoot me this time.” 

Ruby’s eyes glint, and her grip shifts on her scythe.

Yang charges Benedict. He braces to attack, but Yang grabs his arm and summons all of the strength she has left. She jumps onto the flat side of Ruby’s scythe and drags Benedict with her, pounces from there to the buoyant glyph Weiss has waiting, and swings with all her might. Benedict goes flying, flying, flying – and finally crashes into the distant mountainside out of town. An avalanche of snow and ice shakes loose, and Yang hears the faraway rumble. From her perch on the glyph, Yang watches, her hand shielding her eyes. When the dust settles, she jumps down. She lands in a crouch before Ruby, Weiss, and Blake, fist to the ground. The last wash of red trickles out of her. 

“Well,” Weiss says primly, “That should do it.”

Yang snorts.

 

 

 

Word spreads quickly – how could it not? They’d had a battle royale on Main Street. The town is aghast. When RWBY marches the remaining members of BSTR to the outskirts of town, they aren’t alone. 

“Find your leader,” Ruby says grimly, “And don’t come back.” 

“If he’s still alive,” Weiss adds darkly. 

“Oh, he’s alive.” Yang crosses her arms over her chest. “Cockroaches never die.”

Blake has nothing to add, but she slips her arm through Yang’s in solidarity. Yang buzzes at the contact. Her lips have gone through a thousand emotions in the last hour, but they still tingle from Blake’s kiss. 

BSTR range from sullen to mollified, but they leave. Yang half expects everyone to erupt in cheers like it’s the end of the movie. Instead, she feels a tug on her sleeve.

It’s Ellery. “Thanks,” she says shyly, before darting away.

A stream of people want to talk to them now, and Ruby, Weiss, Blake, and Yang do their best to wave them away. Yang is bone tired. So is the rest of her team. When the last of the townspeople disperse (full of thank yous and questions and _can you believe_?) they all exchange sheepish, tired smiles.

“So much for busy work,” says Yang.

Everyone laughs and rolls their eyes.

“I can’t believe you thought this might be a _vacation,”_ Blake says pointedly.

“It’s a tourist town!” Yang protests. “Can you blame me?”

“Yes,” says Weiss. “Always. Sometimes it’s all I have.”

“You know...” says Ruby, “We don’t... _have_ to call Winter right away. We _could_ still have a vacation.”

“You got a plan cooking, sis?”

Ruby shrugs. She’s smiling. “I’m just saying... it would be a shame to go without even _seeing_ the famous hot springs,” she says.

Yang grins. “That _would_ be a shame.”

“After all... they’re _famous_ ,” Blake adds. She and Yang exchange a long glance that makes Yang shiver.

Even Weiss is on board. “Recuperation from a mission is in many ways as important as the mission,” she says, leaning into the bureaucratic bullshit angle. “I don’t see why we can’t call Winter... tomorrow.”

Yang wraps her arm around Blake’s waist. “What are we waiting for, then?”

Ruby clocks the gesture. She searches Yang’s face, and it’s like she _knows_ that something new has changed between her and Blake. Yang remembers the airship, after Argus, and that same knowing expression on Ruby’s face, the soft, knowing, understanding, the pure undercurrent of joy. Her little sister. Intuitive, ingenious, growing up to be a hero.   

Then Ruby breaks into a giggle that completely ruins the effect. “Pool party!” she shrieks. Ruby whips off like a shot. Weiss shouts for Ruby to wait up and chases after.

Blake and Yang, arm in arm, take their time.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and they would have gotten away with it too, if it weren't for those meddling kids!!


	6. Chapter 6

They are _hot_ springs, and Yang sighs in total bliss when she sinks into the pool. Steam rises faintly from the pale water. Yang leans back. Her hair is tied up in a messy knot. “Okay, maybe this was worth it.”

Weiss sits across from Yang in a sparkling white bikini, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s in the water, but she might as well be in a stiff chair. “Was it?” she asks primly.

“Sure, it was.” Yang blows out her bangs. “Minerals are good for sore muscles, right? We’re celebrating _and_ recovering. And it’s awesome.”

“I guess.” Weiss doesn’t soften. “This could have been nice. _Relaxing._ If only—”

“Cannonball!!!”

Ruby hurls herself into the water between them, whips into a brief red ball and a trail of petals that still sets off a _freaking huge_ splash of water that drenches both Yang and Weiss. Yang lets the slap of the wave charge her skin until her hair sizzles dry again. Weiss shakes out her ponytail and looks murderous.

“Sorry!” Ruby giggles. She quickly swims away.

“—Ruby hadn’t invited the _entire town,_ ” Weiss finishes with a sharper edge of annoyance.

“Oh, come on!” Yang says brightly. “It’s a party. Lighten up.”

If anything, Weiss’s posture grows more rigid. It wasn’t, Yang admits, exactly a quiet moment of team bonding and relaxation. The Neiden springs were wide, as deep as a lake in places, and dotted with two dozen people, water wings, floats. Ruby, in her exuberance, had asked a handful of people to join them, and word had spread. It was more than Weiss had expected, but Yang was having a good time.

“Looking good, Weiss,” Yang says.

Weiss sniffs. “I’m not _Blake,_ Yang. You can’t just _flirt_ with me until I’m having a good time.”

“I wasn’t flirting!” Yang holds up her hands in protest. “It was an innocent comment!” She pauses, and then adds, “I don’t _flirt._ ”

“All you do is flirt,” Weiss says archly.

Yang shrugs, _guilty as charged,_ and then sobers, grows thoughtful. “Not with Blake. I’m not flirting with Blake.” Off Weiss’s sharp look, Yang adds, “Okay, I _am_ flirting with Blake, but there’s something... something...”

Weiss takes pity on her. “Yeah,” she says softly. “I know what you mean.” 

A beat, as they sit in the silence. Yang shifts awkwardly, wondering if she’s supposed to say more now – but Weiss breaks it first, and quietly: “Thanks,” she says. “I, um. I almost didn’t wear this one.”

Instantly, Yang’s eyes flutter to Weiss’s abdomen, the jagged pink scar that stretches down it. Her arm twitches. “Yeah,” Yang echoes. “I know what you mean.”

Weiss follows Yang’s glance. “Does it look terrible?” she asks. There’s an uncharacteristic waver (or completely characteristic, if you know what’s under the sheet of ice that is Weiss) to her voice.

And Yang aches. She aches for Weiss, who holds so many scars, and still holds up each one like it’s stunning and new. She aches for herself, the only friend Weiss has who can compare, who can know what it’s like to be _changed,_ in a physical, indelible way. And Yang aches for this world they live in, where they all must carry scars. They’re just girls. In a world without Salem, without the Grimm, Yang could be anything, could build ships or ride mountains or build machines. Weiss, could be anything, could run empires, could write songs, could tend gardens.

“No,” says Yang. A little of the pride she always keeps reserved for Weiss leaks into her voice. “No. It doesn’t look bad at all.”

Weiss’s nerves soften into something closer to a smile. “Thanks, Yang.”

“Any time,” Yang says, cheerful and irreverent in her empathy.

Weiss starts to relax, and says something in reply, but every molecule of Yang’s being suddenly diverts itself when she spots Blake, who stands at the edge of the spring, a towel wrapped around her body, the black halter of her bathing suit peeking over it.

“Excuse me,” Yang says, cutting Weiss off. “I have to. Uh.”

Yang looks helplessly towards Blake. Yang realizes she’s never seen Blake in a swimsuit before. And that she still hasn’t, a towel, a veil. Yang wonders if Blake is wearing something with two pieces or just one underneath it. Then remembers the shirt Blake wore for months in Mistral, the way it hugged her curves and left her torso bare. And now Yang’s thinking about Blake’s skin, the warmth of it under her pores, the smell of it, and Yang, and Yang...

...Can’t say any of this to Weiss, so she shrugs, says noting, and swims away, (helplessly) towards Blake. She misses the roll of Weiss’s eyes, misses Weiss floating off her perch with new lightness in her shoulders, making new and tentative social overtures. She’s zeroed in now, sights settled irrevocably on Blake.

“Come here often?” Yang asks, aiming for casual and cool.

From the dry look Blake gives her, she’s fallen something short of the mark. “Are you flirting with me, Xiao Long?”

“I’m _trying_.”

Blake sits at the edge of the pool and dips in her legs. She smiles despite herself. “You’re succeeding.” The towel is still tightly wrapped around her body.

Yang glows down to her bones. “Are you coming in or what?” she asks. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of water.”

“ _Seriously,_ Yang?”

Yang splashes Blake’s knees, and Blake playfully kicks water back at her. “Prove me wrong,” Yang teases. “Come on in.”

“Give me a minute,” says Blake. She takes a breath, and then Yang is rewarded for life, because Blake drops her towel. She’s wearing a two piece after all, skimpy and black with a top piece that ties in the middle, and Yang is stunned speechless for a beat, as her eyes trail to the knotted tails between Blake’s breasts, down the smooth skin of her abdomen, slender and defined, and then up again, skimming curves with her eyes – hips, waist, breasts, collarbone, neck. When she meets Blake’s eyes again, Blake is looking at her with very wry, very transparent amusement.

“You...” Yang bites her lip. “You uh, look good.”

When she’d said it to Weiss, it was half teasing, half comfort. When she turns the words back on Blake, it’s all heat. Blake’s smile grows, and she slips into the water, swims the scant few strokes over to Yang, and winds her arms around her neck. “Thank you,” Blake murmurs. “Don’t let me sink.”

“Never.”

Their legs tangle together underneath the water as they bob closer together, and Yang thinks Weiss will have something haughty and hilarious to say about impropriety later, but right now she doesn’t care, not when Blake is begging for it so sweetly, with her body and her smile. Yang tilts her chin towards Blake’s until she’s close enough to claim a kiss.

“Yang?”

Yang smothers a groan and looks over her shoulder, forces her to ignore the tiny _huff_ that Blake makes. Ellery floats in the water behind her, looking hopeful, looking small, and Yang feels her frustration evaporate. She twists out of Blake’s arms and turns to Ellery. “What’s up?”

Ellery’s wide eyes flick to Blake and then back to Yang again. “Uh, I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks again, I mean. And that it’s really cool the way you... punch things.”

Yang grins, feels her ego swell. “It is pretty cool, isn’t it?”

“Where did you learn to do all of that?”

Yang puffs out her chest. On the edges of her vision, she sees Blake roll her eyes. “My dad taught me when I was a kid,” she says cheerfully.

Ellery’s face falls. “Oh. I don’t have a dad.”

Yang’s heart softens, and if they weren’t floating in a hot spring, she thinks she would be crouching down next to Ellery right now, getting onto her level. She settles for meeting her eyes.

“Hey, just because my dad taught _me_ doesn’t mean yours has to teach _you._ There are dads everywhere.” A tiny smile from Ellery, and Yang continues. “I’ll tell you what my dad told me when I was starting out. Punch... everything. Walls, dirt, trees. Just keep practicing. That’s how you get strong, how you adapt. Practice. Oh and, uh, don’t tuck your thumb into your fist or you’ll break it.”

Ellery takes in Yang’s words with small, solemn intensity. When she swims away, swearing to follow Yang’s advice to the letter, Blake sighs.

“That kid has a crush on you,” she says dryly. “And she’s going to punch a hole in her bedroom wall.”

“She is not! I meant like, brick walls and stuff. I’m sure she knows I meant brick walls and stuff.”

Blake raises an eyebrow. “What would you have done at her age?”

“I, uh. I punched a hole in my bedroom wall,” Yang admits, smiling sheepishly.

Blake doesn’t say anything, but the look on her face speaks volumes. Exasperation, adoration... love. _Exactly._ Yang’s heart thumps. She wants to lean in towards Blake, brush the damp tendrils of hair from her face, drown in her eyes. All this talk of flirting, of crushes... nobody, nobody, has any idea. Blake has swallowed Yang whole, and Yang – Yang would follow her into the darkest corners of Remnant, love in her fists and a dopey smile on her face.

“Well, hopefully she’s smarter than me,” Yang says, when the ache of the silence becomes too much to bear.

“You’re smart,” Blake replies. They’ve bobbed closer together again, magnets at sea.

“I’ve got a smart mouth,” Yang agrees. She sees Blake’s glance dart towards her lips when she says it, sees the tiny catch in her breath. “It’s okay,” says Yang. “You can look. I want you to.”

Blake grows still. She’s close enough to touch. Her gaze drops deliberately back to Yang’s mouth, and Yang feels the heat of it, feels it dart between her lips and slide down her throat until there’s only one thing she can do: Kiss Blake. And Yang kisses Blake, and the stadium in her lungs cheers, the sun winks, and Blake kisses Yang back, angles her mouth to deepen the kiss and loops her arms around Yang’s neck.

After a long, long moment, they break away giggling, bent close enough that their foreheads still touch.

“What are we doing?” asks Blake.

“More like, why _haven’t_ we been doing this all along?” Yang replies. She kisses Blake again, this time quickly, this time sweetly, this time just to feel Blake’s lips smile underneath hers.

“Well, _you two_ sure didn’t waste any time.” Weiss’s voice cuts between them, and Blake and Yang spring apart. Blake ducks her head, at least aiming for abashed, but Yang can’t bring herself to wipe the grin from her face. Weiss approaches with another woman, austere and in her late twenties. Pretty, too: A stubborn chin and ruddy hair that spirals down her back in curls.

Yang lazily raises one hand in a greeting. “What’s up?”

Weiss’s eye twitches. “Our team values Yang’s candour,” she says through gritted teeth. “I hope you will as well. Yang, Blake, this is Mauve. She’s a friend of Winter’s.”

Mauve breaks into an easy smile. “You girls saved our town from monsters and grifters. If candour is the secret, I’m in admiration.”

“Ah, it was nothing,” Yang says cheerfully. “But please, keep the praise coming.”

“And, er—where is your leader? Miss Rose? I would love to say hello.”

“Ruby?” asks Yang, “She’s—"

“ _Cannonball!!!!!!”_

Another gleeful interruption from Ruby, another torrential splash. Yang grins. “She’s around.” Yang’s hair whips over her shoulder when she turns to shout to Ruby, “Hey, sis! C’mere. We’re being praised.”

Ruby squeals and paddles her way over. Weiss drops her head into her hand in embarrassed dismay. Blake watches it all, a soft, small smile playing over her face. Mauve clears her throat awkwardly.

“Hi!” Ruby says brightly. “It’s nice to meet you...”

“Mauve,” Weiss supplies.

“...Mauve!”

Mauve smiles. “And you. Well met, Ruby Rose. I’m glad to see you’re having a good time.” There’s something in her manner, in the way she holds herself, that reminds Yang of Winter. She can see how they might have been friends back at the academy.

“The _best_ time,” Ruby agrees.

“The best time,” Yang echoes, low enough for only Blake to hear. They exchange a glance. Underneath the water, Blake takes hold of Yang’s hand.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Mauve says warmly. “I have to say, Winter really came through when she sent you four.”

“Oh!” Realization suddenly dawns on Ruby. “You’re Winter’s friend. So you’re – you’re the reason we’re here at all, in a way.”

“I suppose.”

“Mauve has been telling me stories about her and Winter when they trained together,” Weiss gushes, before catching herself. “Er... it sounds like they were _excellent_ students,” she adds primly.

“So you’re also a huntress?” Yang asks. “Damn, where were you this morning?”

“ _Yang._ ” Weiss shoots a glare in Yang’s direction. “Don’t be rude.”    

To Weiss’s obvious relief, Mauve laughs. “It’s alright,” she says. “Yes, I trained as a huntress. But I was never licensed. Eventually, I found I had neither the head nor the stomach for war.”

“But you can fight?” Yang presses.

“If I have to.” Discomfort finally leaks into Mauve’s expression. “I thought here – well, that’s what BSTR was for.”

“Some huntsmen they turned out to be,” Yang grumbles.

“Yes, well...” Mauve shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you. It’s hard to find teams willing to work out here. But we have strong, natural borders. Without BSTR drawing in Grimm, I think the town will have an easier time.”

“I hope so,” Blake says. She sounds dubious, and privately, Yang agrees. Yeah, it was the panic Salome had incited with the town’s kids that had drawn so many Grimm so close, but she’d also been on the mountaintop. They were many, and they were circling. Neiden was both protected and isolated by its mountains. It needed more than just natural walls.

Ruby puts words to their thoughts. “But the Grimm can still get into town. It’s still not... safe really, is it? Is there anything else being done?”

“That’s life outside the kingdoms,” Mauve says, like she’s used to it. “Nobody is ever totally safe.”

A look passes through Ruby, Blake, Weiss, and Yang. Mauve has touched upon something they’ve all thought and talked about before – and how could they not, as huntresses, and knowing what they now know about Salem? Yang thinks about the relic waiting for them back in Atlas. What will happen when all four are brought back together? Will the Grimm evaporate, and will towns like this be free to grow and thrive? Or will it be Armageddon?

It’s heavy stuff to think about. Yang’s thoughts have grown so much heavier these days. Her arm gives a phantom twinge, right at the hinge of her elbow. Her heart gives another, right where her mother’s secret is lodged.

Blake squeezes Yang’s hand, their fingers interlaced, and twinges and secrets and aches ease a little. Her thoughts have grown heavier, but she needn’t bear then alone, not with Blake by her side, not with Ruby and Weiss on her team. Yang squeezes back, and she and Blake share a private smile.

“This place used to be so nice,” Weiss says thoughtfully. “It’s _still_ so nice. Surely it could be built back up again. Surely Atlas could spare protection for say, a popular resort town.”

“Perhaps,” says Mauve, “But where would we get the money?”

“Atlas has funding for tourism. You’re a politician, you should be able to get through _that_ red tape.” Softer, Weiss adds, “I’m sure Winter would help you.”

“Perhaps,” Mauve says again. She looks Weiss over, curious and pensive, peering through time. “You remind me of her,” she says finally. “Your sister.”

“Oh!” Weiss looks flustered. “Thank you, but I have a long way to go before I’m anywhere near Winter’s level.”

“I meant more... you both have good hearts.” Mauve sighs. “It’s been years but... well, tell Winter I’m glad to hear she’s doing so well. And tell her... tell her I’ve missed her.”  

“I- I will,” Weiss replies, still off balance, still blushing faintly.

After Mauve leaves, Yang turns to Weiss, wide eyed. “Um, did we just meet your _sister’s ex_?”

“What? No!” Weiss stares after Mauve’s retreating form. “Did we?”

“Definitely,” Blake says, with such conviction that it causes her and Yang to break into giggles. 

“ _Possibly,_ ” says Weiss.

“Huh,” Ruby looks perplexed. “I didn’t catch that at all.”

“Well, you’ve always been a little dense,” Yang teases, and then a moment later, when Ruby punches her in the arm, “Hey!” She turns to Blake. “Avenge me!”

“I think you can handle yourself.”

“Yeah, but we’re _partners._ ” Yang likes the way that sounds on her tongue. She knows that on paper, they’ve been partners for a long time—since the day Blake tailed her in the Emerald Forest. It feels different now, now that she’s felt Blake’s mouth pressed against hers, felt Blake’s soul pressed against hers, fallen in love and watched her and Blake crawl towards each other.

Ruby turns to Weiss. “Weiss, you wouldn’t let me go down alone, would you?”

Weiss crosses her arms over her chest. “This is a _spa,_ not a waterpark. I am _not_ taking part in your shenanigans.”

“Aw come on! You love my shenanigans.”

“I certainly do not!”

Yang punches the water, and a rolling wave crashes over both Ruby and Weiss. Ruby shrieks.

Weiss gasps in outrage and points at Yang. “You—” she looks back at Ruby, “Oh, she is going down.”

“Let’s retreat to the shallows! Then jump on my shoulders,” Ruby says, not missing a beat. “We would crush those two at chicken.”

“Crush them at _what_?”

Ruby has already blown past them all to the far side of the pool, scattering a group of relaxed looking bathers. She jumps up and down, waving her arms in the air. “Come _on,_ Weiss!”

“Oh, that’s good,” says Yang, on board right away and following Ruby right away. “Blake, hop up. They don’t stand a chance.”

Blake grins, and in a whip of speed, clambers onto Yang’s shoulders, and Yang wills herself not to be distracted by the press of Blake’s thighs against her collarbones. Weiss, after a moment’s hesitation, follows suit and jumps onto Ruby. She holds her shoulders back like she’s readying for a duel.

Ruby charges at Yang without warning, and Yang barely manages to dodge, the cut of the water robbing her of already needed speed. Weiss is both determined and still learning the rules, but she catches on when Blake shoves her hard. Weiss recovers, straightens her spine, narrows her eyes, and Ruby dashes at Yang again, dizzying. Yang loses her footing and feels Blake wobble on her shoulders.

“Don’t you quit on me already!”

Blake steadies, and her thighs squeeze reassuringly. “I’m not that easy to take down.”

“We’ll see about _that,_ ” Weiss interrupts. She jabs at Blake, as quick and precise as if she were holding Myrtenaster, and Blake weaves under and away. Weiss points again and throws a time glyph at Blake. Blake dodges—barely—and her movements grow sluggish for a beat.

“Hey!” Yang cries. “Glyphs are cheating!”

“All is fair,” Weiss sniffs.

Ruby continues to run circles around Yang. Yang plants her feet, grips the rocky bottom of the pool with her toes, and braces. She waits for her moment, lunges for Ruby, and almost catches her around the waist, but Ruby slips out of her grasp at the last second.

“This isn’t working,” Blake says to Yang. “She’s way too fast for you.”

“We’ll see about that!” Yang retorts. She feints at Ruby again, and Ruby skips away laughing. Yang makes a noise of frustration.

“Switch places with me,” says Blake. “I have an idea.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please,” Blake huffs. “You’re not the only one who works out.”

Like Yang needs the reminder. She has the defined muscles of Blake’s abs, the hard cut of her arms, saved into the favourites page of her brain. Yang can punch down mountains, but Blake can bear the load. “Okay,” Yang agrees, “Let’s do it.”

Blake dismounts with a deft flip, and Yang leaps up. She grins at Weiss, wolfishly, a challenge. “You’re in for it now, Schnee.”

“In your dreams, Xiao Long,” Weiss shoots back. She still says it like a princess, but trash talk looks good on her.

Yang raises her fists. “Bring it.”

Blake runs at Ruby, and already, Yang can see that the tables have turned: Blake is fast enough to get inside Ruby’s range, and when she throws out two clones, fast enough to disorient Ruby the way she had Yang. Weiss, too, looks confused, and she doesn’t see it coming when Yang closes in near enough to grab her around the waist. 

“Hey!” Weiss struggles against Yang’s hold, but she’s got a good grip now. Yang twists her off Ruby’s shoulders and flings her into the water. She goes down yelling and spluttering, resurfaces and flips her sopping wet bangs out of her eyes. “You! You—” abruptly, Weiss breaks off into laughter. Ruby flops backwards into the water and joins her.

Yang raises her arms over her head. “Victory!” she swings over Blake’s shoulder and drops down. Blake catches her in her arms. “Come claim your prize,” says Yang. She feels giddy, impulsive, and free. She tugs Blake’s head down and kisses her.

When they break apart, it’s to theatrical groans from Ruby and Weiss. Yang feels Blake’s body shake with laughter and she grins.

“Best two out of three?” Yang chirps.

“I did _not_ consent to be part of your foreplay,” says Weiss, back on her feet and squeezing water out of her ponytail.

“Aw, c’mon Weiss. We just want to make sure you feel included.”

Weiss sticks her tongue out at Yang. A beat, and then she melts into a kinder smile. “You two look good together,” she admits.

Yang looks up at Blake. Half blinded by the pale sun. Half blinded by Blake’s glorious face. “Yeah,” says, dreamy and romantic and not caring a bit if it shows anymore. “We do.”

Yang glances towards Ruby, who watches them with her own brand of earnest tenderness. She doesn’t say anything, but she gives Yang a thumbs up, and it’s as good as being wrapped up in a hug. She looks up at Blake again, and thinks that she might burst with love.

She and Blake have still never talked about it, but Yang is starting to think that they don’t need to. Despite all the caution and longing and trepidation, they’ve slipped through the stages and ended up here: Yang, in Blake’s arms, feeling something like a second skin. Yang can see the path stretched out before them, the footsteps leading into the sunset, and they don’t need to talk, because they already understand.

“Hey.” Yang wriggles in Blake’s hold. “You wanna get out of here?”

Blake’s eyes widen a fraction: Surprised. Intrigued. Her lips part slightly. “Really?”

Yang drops back into the water with a splash. She lays her hands on Blake’s cheeks, cradles Blake’s face in her palms. Kisses her, longing, longing, and with just a touch of heat. “Really,” she says, breathless and low. “If you want.”

“I want,” Blake replies. Breathless and low.

They make lame excuses to Ruby and Weiss, which they see through, obviously and immediately, but nobody cares enough to call them on it. They drift to the edge of the pool, exchanging kisses and touches and glances rich with possibility, neither daring to speak and pop the moment, as they climb out of the water (steam rising from their skin in the chilly air), as they start to gather their things.

“Back to the hotel?” Yang asks finally.

Blake meets her eyes, doesn’t duck away. “Let’s do it.”

Gold overflows in Yang’s heart, spills over her ribs and lungs. She grabs Blake’s hand and squeezes it tightly.

The thunder of footsteps startles them both. Yang doesn’t let go of Blake’s hand, but her head snaps up as a man bursts into the clearing, panting. He doubles over, hands braced on his knees. Blake’s ears flick forward in alarm.

“What’s going on?” Yang asks. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees that Weiss and Ruby have already clocked the scene, are making their way over.

“Grimm... attacking... town...” he sucks in a huge breath of air, “Avalanche...”

“ _Avalanche?!”_ Yang is lost but still on high alert.

“Tore down... main street... coming... this way...”

“It’s a Geist!”

Yang’s head snaps up. Ruby has climbed onto a tall treetop and is scouting ahead.

“I’ve seen this before,” Ruby shouts, “It’s a Geist, and it’s possessed an... an...”

“Avalanche,” Yang says again, realization now dawning. “When I threw Benedict into the mountain...” she looks up at Ruby again, squints into the sun. “Are you _sure_?”

Ruby jumps down from the tree. She’s still in her red bathing suit, but somewhere, she managed to pick up her scythe. She unfurls it, and plants its base in the ground with a definitive, assertive _thunk._ “It’s almost _here._ ”

Right on cue, the Geist bursts onto the scene, a tornado of falling snow and ice and bricks, towering over their heads, over the trees, over imagination. Yang clenches her fist. She’s pitifully grateful that she and Blake had been about to leave: Her boots feel warm and sturdy on her feet.

Yang scrambles for her weapon, and gets ready to fight.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the beat referencing weiss's scar was inspired by [this piece of art](https://catalyswitch.tumblr.com/post/185179835378/this-wasnt-supposed-to-a-thing-but-i-got-emo) by [catalyswitch](https://catalyswitch.tumblr.com) and the absolute spiral of emotions it sent me through.


	7. Chapter 7

Ruby shoots twice at the whirlwind, but it’s deflected and whips into a tree. Bark rains down, branches shatter. Somebody screams. Ruby looks around quickly, wheels turning.

“We need to draw it away from the spring,” she shouts, cool, assured. “The safety of the townspeople comes first.”

Yang nods; that tracks. But how to draw a Grimm away from a knot of people in growing panic? Wistfully, she wishes that Ren were here. Practically, she braces herself. Fight fire with fire. Yang raises her fists.

“Hey ugly, over here!” Yang runs a wide arc towards the path back to town, shooting bullets the whole way. The Geist twirls towards her, but then someone screams, and it tears away again, towards the party. Yang makes a frustrated noise. She chases the Grimm again and fires, tries to corral it towards the mountain, towards the trees.

Red bullets whiz past and Yang whips her head to the side and sees that Ruby has joined her. She’s half dressed, the laces and buckles of her corset flying loose, socks bunching around her knees, but she has Crescent Rose out and ready.

“There’s too many people here,” Yang says, sidelong to Ruby. “It’s riling up the monster.”

“Probably why it came here at all,” Ruby replies. “We need to...” her eyes flash thoughtfully, and then scan until she spots Weiss, who has managed to immaculately prepare for battle in a matter of seconds. Ruby looks back to Yang. “I have an idea. But we need someone who can help evacuate.”

“I can handle that,” Mauve stands nearby, a light robe tossed over her swimsuit. “Do what you need to do.” 

Ruby’s jaw sets. Her silver eyes flick between Yang and Weiss again. “Freezerburn!”

Weiss holds Myrtenaster aloft, turns in a neat circle, and thrusts it point first into the ground. Ice spreads from the tip of her sword and coats the wrinkled old layer of snow. Yang leaps into the air and lands fist first. She punches the ground hard enough to feel her knucklebones ache, shoots the ground hard enough that a thick fog of steam rises like a shroud.

The Geist is thrown off balance, spins crazily to the left and collides with a tree. Pine needles shake loose and a great branch cracks and falls. Sprays of rock and ice roll off of the living avalanche. Yang squints through the fog and sees Mauve has quickly gotten to work, navigating the geography of her hometown with blind ease as she rounds everyone up and draws them away. 

Yang sees another flash a movement and finds Blake as she clambers up a tree for the sight and for the range, her sword slung across her back. When she reaches the top, Blake unsheathes her weapon and points the barrel of its gun at the Grimm. Her eyes narrow. She squeezes off two shots, but the spin of ice and snow swallows them. The Geist bounces off tree trunks, still hindered and blind. It crashes into Blake’s tree, and Blake yelps and loses her footing. She falls out of the tree, but the whip of her weapon is already flicking out to snag a stray branch. It pulls taut, and Blake hangs in the air, legs dangling.

“Blake!” Yang shouts in genuine alarm. She wants to move to Blake and help her, but the avalanche stands between them. She starts towards Blake anyway, heels digging into the frozen ground—

But Blake is already taking care of it. She swings herself onto the branch and steadies herself into a crouch. Yang breathes out relief.

Ruby open fires, but runs into a similar problem: Her bullets are whipped away by the dervish, disappear uselessly or shatter against trees. “If we could just see its’ face...” she mutters, half to herself.

“If we could just _what_?” asks Yang.

“That’s it’s weak point. If you look—there.” Ruby points.

Through the churning blizzard, Yang almost sees it – the looming glint of an enormous eye. Just as quickly, it vanishes behind a sheet of snow. “Great,” she says. “How are we supposed to get to _that._ ”

“If we could slow it down – watch out!!”

The Geist burns towards them. Ruby tackles Yang and flees, takes her with her, a stream of red and gold, but they still land awkwardly. Yang rolls and jumps to her feet. Ruby stumbles, and then braces herself.

“Slow it down, huh?” Yang asks dryly. “You got a plan?” 

Ruby angles Crescent Rose across her body. “Not yet.”

“So guns blazing, then?” Yang cocks Ember Celica and raises her fists. “I like it.”

Yang shoots in blind, rapid succession. Ruby follows suit, and then Blake jumps down from the trees and nimbly weaves her way around the Grimm to join them. Bullets rain like a hailstorm, but the Geist still manages to keep his face hidden and protected.

“This isn’t _working,”_ Yang growls, ever-mounting frustration. 

And now the fog is starting to waft into the air and dissipate. As the air clears, the Geist’s movements become more confident, less crazed – but no less chaotic or deadly for it. In the back of her mind, Yang also notes that they’re the only people left in the clearing, and a knot of tension eases.

“Maybe I can get inside its range,” Ruby says dubiously. “Maybe I’m fast enough.”

Yang’s nerves fizz anew. “That’s way too dangerous.”

“But it might be the only...” Ruby still looks uncertain. Then she lights up. “Weiss! Give it something big enough to fight.”

Weiss nods. She points Myrtenaster downwards, and a wide, white glyph flashes before her, and the towering, glowing Arma Gigas climbs free. Weiss points sharply, and it charges the Geist in heavy, clanking strides and flies into a tackle. Weiss chases after it, directing motion with her sword, her ponytail streaming behind her.

Arma Gigas wraps the Geist in a bear hug that slows and immobilizes it for two long moments before it bursts free again and spins rapidly towards Weiss. Weiss stubbornly doesn’t budge, and her suit of armour protects her by stepping into the Geist’s path again and bracing itself against the howl of the avalanche.

They collide like something out of legend, scrapes of stone, sprays of shards of ice. The Arma Gigas’s sword flashes in harmony with Weiss and Myrtenaster –there’s a horrible screeching noise as it parries sheer elements—and then they careen off together in a clash of wind and snow and blades. Weiss chases after them, a delicate pale butterfly trailing it the wake of two grand beasts.

And it almost, almost looks like the Arma Gigas has the upper hand. And it almost, almost looks like they might win with no bloodshed. The battle is fierce, but Arma Gigas wields a mighty sword, and the Geist’s only weapon is chaos. Again and again they crash together, the deafening whistle of wind, the cacophony of ghostly steel. A small, satisfied smile starts to bloom across Weiss’s face. She thrusts Myrtenaster forward, and the Armas Gigas mirrors, mirrors the movement and drives its’ blade into the heart of the whirlwind.

It’s a mistake, but Weiss realizes it a moment too late. The momentum of the avalanche overtakes the blade and traps it, wrenches it away from Arma Gigas, and Yang sees Weiss cry out, shake her wrist in phantom pain. The Geist advances on the knight, and everybody winces when it comes at it with new, hacking vigor. Without a weapon, Arma Gigas starts to flinch against the blinding hits, and Weiss begins to wilt in the face of them. Its’ arms fly up to shield itself, lightning blue wisps of light blazing from the gaps in the armour, but the Geist gains, gains, gains, until Arma Gigas begins to shred itself, sinks to its knees and wafts away into dust. Even from a distance, Yang can see a carnival’s hall of expressions wind its way across Weiss’s face. 

Yang bolts forward before she has a chance to think about it, before Weiss’s exhaustion truly registers within her, and Blake and Ruby are on her heels. They rain fire and ammo, the three of them, and the Geist, who seemed to toy with advancing on Weiss in the aftermath, bobs backwards.

Ruby skids to Weiss’s side first and lays a protective hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Weiss shakes off Ruby’s touch. Her pain and her wounded pride makes her standoffish. “I’m _fine._ Now what are we supposed to do?” 

Hurt flashes in Ruby’s eyes, but she quickly recovers (out of necessity, out of understanding). “I don’t know,” she admits. “Keep fighting. Keep holding it at bay.” The Geist spins forwards again, and Ruby fires at it. It barely slows down. 

“I can’t _take_ this anymore,” Yang snaps. “None of this is _doing_ anything.” 

Yang squeezes the tight balls of her fists. She keeps shooting, but it feels like a waste. Dust and gunfire might as well have been gnats to the Geist. What it really needed was one good hit, something strong enough to take it down. 

Yang could be strong enough.  

Ruby catches on to what Yang’s doing a moment before she actually does it, a moment too late to make a difference. “Yang, don’t—" 

But Yang is already off. She feels herself light on fire, her hair flickering, her eyes blinking red. She feels good, strong, sure. Her feet shake the earth where they plant themselves, and she runs at the Grimm, and she throws herself at it with her fists raised, shots fired like an appetizer to the deadly punch she throws in their wake. An unstoppable force hits an immovable object and— 

—It feels exactly as Yang should have expected it would feel: Like colliding with a tornado that’s threaded with dirt and stone and shards of ice. She’s blasted with the full force of it for two torturous seconds before the kickback thrusts her away, and she flies into the mountainside and cracks her head against the rock. Yang blacks out. 

_Yang. Yang. Yang._ She can’t be out for more than fifteen seconds, but Blake has already scrambled to her side in those moments. Naked fear shudders in every one of her muscles and when Yang comes to, her ears are ringing, but she thinks Blake is saying her name, again and again and again. 

Yang groans and sits up. “I’m—I’ll be okay. I think my aura took a pretty bad hit.” Yang grimaces. 

“It did. I saw it. I—” Blake can’t quite pull the words out ( _I felt it_ ), but Yang knows, because hazily she thinks she felt it, too, thinks she sees it, a flash of gold in Blake’s eyes.

Yang climbs to her feet and tries to shake off the pain, but it is a clinging weight. She grits her teeth, bears through it anyway, and starts to feel the reconciliatory prize light up in her bones, set her hair ablaze and her eyes on fire. She rolls her shoulders. 

“Yang,” Blake still looks worried, “Be careful.” 

But danger can’t touch Yang, now, even without armour, even through all the pain. She’s on a mountain highway driving 120 km an hour on Bumblebee, feeling the wind whip her face, feeling her blood sing and soar. 

Yang puts two fingers under Blake’s chin, tilts it up towards her, and kisses Blake. “Babe,”  It’s the return of a volley, a promise answered,  “I’m always careful.”

Yang pulls back (and sees the trust in Blake’s eyes, the resolve, the love, the admiration) even stronger. She punches her fists together and _ignites._

They return to Weiss and Ruby, who are dancing in and out of the Geist’s range. A plan slots into place in Yang’s mind, and she catches Ruby’s eye. “We need to slow it down, right?” Yang shouts. 

Ruby nods. She looks from the Geist to Yang and back again, and Yang knows that they’re on the same page. Roots confirmation when Ruby shouts, “Bumblebee!”

Yang and Blake exchange a glance and a nod. Blake hurls her whip forward, and Yang runs to catch its other end. When she does, Blake swings Yang in a wide arc. Yang feels the exhilaration of high speed course through her as she soars through the air, the wind tearing through her hair and slapping her cheeks until her eyes water. And she feels it spurring on her semblance, until she shines brighter, hits harder, burns like gold. She’s moving the opposite direction of the avalanche’s funnel, and feels friction and resistance the closer she breezes, but she grits her teeth and bears through it, throws her weight into a mighty right hook as she whizzes past.

Yang feels the Geist knock off its course when she hits it, but she keeps flying by, until Blake has looped her whip around the Grimm, still dizzy from the force of Yang’s punch. Yang lands when its secure, knees bent, thighs braced for the impact. She grins, and across the way, sees Blake’s teeth flash in response. They pull the cord taut in unison.

Sheets of snowfall still fight their way through, but miraculously, the tactic works: The Geist struggles, elements locked into place. Yang feels her feet skid forward against the force, but she steadies herself and digs in. She takes strength in Blake on the other side of it, her anchor, her other half. It strikes Yang that they fight like puzzle pieces, that they always have, since they took on than Nevermore in the Emerald Forest with Weiss and Ruby. Like they were always to find their way to each other. _Partners._

With the Grimm immobilized, it’s time for Ruby to get to work. Weiss throws up a shining glyph. Ruby springs onto it, and uses its buoyancy to launch herself forward, uses her speed to come hurtling towards the demon. Without its wild spinning, she’s fast enough to weave between its howling layers of wind and snow and ice and come straight to the heart of the monster, come eye to eye with its lightless, sunken face. She disappears into the snow, and Yang’s breath catches with worry.

A beat later, and she hears a tiny _ha!_ before an explosive shot blooms. Ruby reappears. She flies backwards and lands in an ungainly heap. Weiss runs to her side. The avalanche collapses, and Blake and Yang have to step quickly to avoid losing their balance or getting swept up in the wave of abandoned snow. Blake jumps high into the branches of a tree. Yang braces herself and rides out the wave with a whoop and a cheer. The Geist shoots into the sky, looking to flee now that it was unprotected. 

“Don’t let it get away!” Ruby shouts, still on the ground. Weiss hovers over her, looking worried.

In the trees, Blake aims her weapon and peers through its scope. “I’m on it,” she says, before firing. Her aim is true. The Geist is hit point blank, lets out a strangled roar, and dissipates into the weak sunlight. Blake smiles, quiet and satisfied.

Yang pushes through the melting slush to Ruby’s side, crouches down, and puts a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “Those were some bold moves, sis.”

Ruby smiles, looking tired. “You’re one to talk.”

Yang tries not to sag on her feet. Drained of adrenaline, drained of her semblance, drained of her aura—Ruby’s not the only one who’s tired. “Yeah, well. All in a day’s work, right?”

“Don’t say that,” Weiss groans. “If we have to fight something _else_ crazy tomorrow, I’m retiring.”

Ruby and Yang exchange a glance, both trying to picture Weiss settling for or into _anything_ , and dissolved into giggles. Weiss crosses her arms over her chest, but can’t muster enough outrage to defend herself, and finally breaks into a smile.

“I think that was probably the last of it,” says Yang.

Ruby squeaks. “Don’t say _that_! Now you’ve jinxed us!”

“Not this time,” Yang replies. “I’ve got a good feeling.” 

“Double jinxed!” Ruby pushes herself to her feet.

“Would those cancel each other out?” Weiss wonders out loud. “Like a double negative?”

Ruby makes a face. “Let’s not bring _math_ into _jinxes_. Don’t do that to math.”

While Ruby and Weiss’s banter continues, Yang looks to the trees. Blake is still up there, staring thoughtfully out into the distance. Yang makes her way over and climbs. 

With her aura so low, she feels the bark dig into her palms and scratch, feels the cold sap cling to them, but it’s an easy climb. The tree is sturdy and gnarled, riddled with toeholds and knots. She reaches Blake without trouble and swings herself onto the branch. Pine needles rustle and drift to the ground as Yang settles.

“Hey.”

Blake smiles and shifts over to make room for Yang. “Hey.” 

They sit with their thighs pressed together, and quiet peace hovers over them both. 

“Wild couple of days, huh?” Yang asks. She means BSTR. She means the monsters. She means the way her and Blake’s mouths have found their way to each other, again and again. She means any of it, and all of it, all at once.

“Yang...” Blake trails off, but Yang follows it, the fading timbre of Blake’s voice, the unspoken words carved onto both of their hearts. Yang holds out her hand, palm facing the sky, and Blake takes it and leans her head against Yang’s shoulder. “Wild and wonderful,” she agrees.

It was over now. Yang could smell it on the air, could feel it in her scars, the way old sailors sense coming storms. Whatever the people of Neiden came up against next, it wouldn’t be RWBY’s fight anymore. They would call Winter, pack up, return to Atlas. And then...

And then what? Atlas’s mysteries still loomed, austere and impassive. The relic still needed to be found, Ironwood cajoled to their terms, and Weiss... 

On the ground, Yang sees Weiss, with Ruby still and laughing, and feels a pang of sympathy. Whatever was coming for them next, she had a feeling that it would be hardest of all on Weiss. The Schnee name was seeded into every one of Atlas’s secrets. They would all need to look out for her in the coming weeks.

For Ruby, too. Yang knows that the weight of her silver eyes, their legend and their power, weighs more heavily on her little sister than she openly admits. She feels for Ruby, too, and the bold, lonely path that she walks.   

And as for Yang?

With Blake by her side, Yang can’t remember the last time she felt so powerful, so sure. Yang has spent long months healing. She still has a ways to go. And she knows that there’s a reckoning with Raven to come, one that she dreads, one that feels inevitable—but it doesn’t feel insurmountable, not anymore.

Blake snuggles closer to Yang and sighs, a gentle, contented noise that makes Yang ache with fondness. Nothing feels insurmountable, not when there can be something this good in the world. 

Yang puts her arm around Blake and they watch the winter sun together, the way its pale light bounces off snowy mountaintops and refracts, sparkling and endless.

Everything was going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be the last one <3
> 
> a belated and eternal thank you to my friend gooce, who i commissioned to draw a scene from chapter 5. it can be found [here](https://lightsaroundyourvanity.tumblr.com/post/185284697387/an-avalanche-of-snow-and-ice-shakes-loose-and) \-- go and bask in how cool yang looks!!
> 
> and also to patcho, who drew some AMAZING fanart from the last chapter!! (spoiler alert: they kISS). check that out [here](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/post/185476744343/so-lightsaroundyourvanity-is-writing-a-really), i'm so floored and honoured that she drew this!


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